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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

Watching the Rain

Day stayed in bed with the rain.
What will I do watching its
diaphanous curtain of gray?
I need a cup of light to wake me,
but the rain has filled it.
It has a soft, quiet flavor.
I have two toes in a dream.
A stare that penetrates
the fuzziness of the air
and the glimmer of a blanket
laid on the street and trees.
Perhaps I should do what they are doing.
Take a nap under the rain.
It leaves me with so many smiles,
an armful of flowers
closing their petals in sleep.

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