THE RAIN SPEAKS TO ME OF YOU

The rain speaks to me of you,

softly murmuring,

telling me what it thinks I need to know.

But I always want to hear more.

I want to know how you take off your clothes

when I am not there.

I want to know how you look at yourself

in the mirror, when I am not there.

I want to know you when I’m not there.

The moon speaks to me of you.

She sees you through your window

and knows you when I am not there.

She is your sister of the skies,

and she smiles at my ignorance.

I want to know how you sleep,

how your limbs lie among the bedclothes

when I am not there.

I want to know you when I am not there.

The ocean waves too are your sisters,

and when I lie naked on the beach

they whisper to me of you,

saying, “So, you think you know her!”

They laugh at my ignorance of you.

I want to know what thoughts pass through your mind,

I want to know what dreams may come

when I am not there.

I want to know who you are when I’m not there.