Black Falling Rain

The white smoke winding cloth

about her face, pale cerement,

raised off-handed, another

Pall Mall cigarette lit, red pack,

another blood nail painted,

sharp for entry into night, question

and love, a ticking noise, mirror,

mirror, itching at the damp, and scratch

at the cold cellar door,

green moss covered, black like ash,

grayed like dreams, premonitions mixing

memory and desire,

stamped out in an ashtray

counting with lost moments.


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