Quiet depths, small patches
Of serenity, time to pull
It all in, to think, reflect,
Dream; all in an autumn
Afternoon, alone with
Memories, castles-on-the-
Air; and the smell of rain.
Half-light dances upon
The surface of a polished
Wooden floor. The steady
Hammers, the continued running
Of silver drops upon the
Roof. Peace is a sharp-tasting
Candy, a candy to be rolled
About on the tongue, savored
With the half-desperate
Half-indolent leisure.
Half-indolent in wanting the
Taste to linger forever and
A day, half-desperate in the
Knowledge that the taste
Won't stay forever and a day,
That it will fade away like
An ash riding upon the wind.
The smell of rain, and with
The abruptness of the hunter
Springing upon the hunted,
So does the taste die away,
So do the demons pounce
Upon the beauty of contentment,
Hurling away the peace, hurling
It far, far off in space, destroying
All that was achieved.
Demons far darker than
Any of those of Moses's hell,
Demons of the mind,
Demons of haunting memories.
The smell of rain, and
Two entities in one vessel,
The smell of rain,
A clash between the positive
And the negative.
The simple, cleansing
Smell of rain,
And someone is dying
Two thousand deaths.
The gentle, lovely
Smell of rain,
And these memories live
Again, destroying again what
They destroyed before.
At last, the soul cannot
Longer take the torture a
Body perhaps could.
Howl as the imps will,
Scream as the devils will,
There is sudden oblivion;
No eyes, ears, no lips. And
The smell of rain is once
Again gentle,
The smell of rain is
Soft, soothing.
Irony; that which burns
The soul as acid may also heal it
As salve.

c. late 1975

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