Summer Rain Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

I woke too late,
your sunburnt cheeks,
tomato red,
sand clinging
to your hairless legs,
reflecting
from ten painted toes;
a tiny tuft,
now out of place.
The tower clock,
two alleys north
struck nineteen hundred
a hair past dinnertime,
two chatty frigate birds
a black redbelly snake,
sinister clouds,
of black and smokey gray,
I did not have the heart,
my love of loves,
to wake you then,
It was the summer rain
that mixed with our tears.