"A day without rain is like
a day without sunshine."
-- A. R. Ammons
I'm wondering if there is life after sex, if there is any getting away
from who we were under each other just moments ago
before you went to work
& I was left to stumble into my underwear, jeans, your shirt, thinking,
how did I live through that & where should I be now,
you, my agrologist, who unearths the earth. I'm quite sure
that you have inherited a poet's genitals.
Still: you are constant as the day weathering through
& regardlessly, I need you.
it is that time of the month, or it should be. I'm late & still,
the hormones come kicking in hiking boots.
are we ready for this?
I make coffee I didn't help pick or grind & move outside. storm clouds
& black crows burden the March sky.
a cat whose paws have never touched grass is with me,
but only on the stoop; no taste of green for him.
"isn't it just fucking charming here?" I say, to no one in particular.
"what kind of animal keeps knocking over the garbage cans?"
though really, I'm wondering what life is after babies; if there will be
any getting back to who we were under each other
just an hour ago.
the air has become palpable.
Mia, the german shepherd, barks "hello" & Pablo flattens an ear,
twitches his tail; gives up his glimpse of wild
& pads indoors.
regardlessly, I need you.
it's raining now; the earth grows invisible. you're out in it:
a man whose presence encloses everything
like weather. chin up
& mouth opening to a kiss as soil slicks to mud;
each raindrop clear as tiny thoughts of love;
this is me calling you home.