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