Your maddening rain



I found Eros abed,

pulse weakly sending

a worm of light across a screen. 
In the garden later nurses

emptied his glittering bedpan.

I watched as where

the waste splashed bright 
flowers sprung. 
When at last alone

I stomped them flat,

the bile in my throat. 
Too late. These thoughts linger and persist.

Above the injured soul,

the wasted heart,

that yokel,

that conscript, that bloody work.