The Yellow Stocking

Ah
what is that blessed rain doing
to these late days of July
the Persian silk tree         the black locust tree
that late-blooming fireweed
and this weeping willow
which only just turned a deep green

To windows         rooftops
to words we remember less

Don't hang up
wait to hear the gutter's cough         the sparrow's sneeze
and the sigh of a me who still thinks of you

Ah
what is that blessed rain doing
to these late days of July
the leaves poised to fall         ancient benches
and the empty chair of a woman
who left          in the corner of my mind
a sidelong glass
a slanted smile         and one yellow stocking