Laundry at three o’clock on a Monday afternoon and I think I feel the ocean you say is inside me
crash and part against my breakwater bones.
Outside, the light is silver with the Spring.
All the young flowers in the world can’t teach my tides to ebb and flow
to the will of anything but the caprices of my sorrow,
I wax and wane to love and an indifferent moon.
There are no windows where I am, but I think I hear
the old regret approaching.
It comes with the rain. Remember this:
The rain is a heart-breaker because it teaches us
that we can grow. Remember
how long the winter was.