Rain, After
Night, morose
Distilled into silence
Trees, still
Wet having wept
Unsympathetic street lamps expose the naked pavement
Crying to be covered, longing for morning
Feet, paws and dirt
The street, never more solitary
Than in the deep night
Than after the rain
Knowing abandonment
And I, looking out, always sad
Mourning a loss
The Smell of Grass
The smell of grass, freshly shorn
For some a glass of wine
from the Rhine
Perhaps, Friday at the pub
Me, inebriate
In sweat
In my garden
Bionote
David Leo has published four books of poetry: Somewhere A Tiny Voice; One Journey, Many Rivers; Identity; Ubin Dreaming (You've Been Dreaming). He also writes fiction.
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