OK.
Back to my own here.
Here's a poem called "Squall".
Again, a very simple title.
And it was just the idea of when I was back
at Stony Brook for a while, we used
to get socked in on these sort of real rainy foggy nights.
And the squall was just simply to mention
that this is the kind of weather that's outside
and I guess inside.
"The sea foams and the harness of the hidden moon, rain
drums steadily on a tin gutter as I read.
Poe's words piercing like spindle back chairs.
His storm dark past thumbing through my brain in the designs
on the rain washed windows.
Kicking up my suspicion of the leaf
stick figures along the washed out path as I am
and afraid for his world to be on the edge of this unrevealing
night.
I would sleep, but my head so clogged,
the pressure of the blood breathes
loudly against my breathing like another.
And a beacon from the lighthouse of the Sheriff pinwheels
and the rain.
As I watched the window, not knowing
what might tap on the pain, arrest this other tide."