And This Rain
Your verse became a misty trip to distant links
maybe the reason of sun's dodging was false,
affection left behind the borderlines and brinks
reminds of your ethereal, betrothal pulse.
Our time is still, with eyes to shine, conceived,
so is your company, outside my car to stray,
a fog rescinds while slowly falls, two souls bereaved,
the arbor trees in dusky light, remote sway.
The nightly breeze becomes your touch upon my face,
conducts unknown my course to steady effuse,
our steadfast floats upon the brines that dreams encase,
a summer song of longing stills and souls' bemuse.
How many sentiments a railroad trip ascribes
beyond horizon's borderlines and faded strings,
caressing touch of fingertips by airy brides,
- your Sunday advent will become a bird that sings.
Perchance you are bending softly on my scriptures,
inside a car of an expatriating train,
while I recall on Storrow Drive, your nightly features,
- as we have missed our dreamy summer and this rain.
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