Saying What You Mean

in the sopping fields
the rain sweeps by in sheets
and i like the rain
and the rain understands
but it is you i want words for

where is the lightning sword
crackling and keen to shear the cobwebbed curtains
from their places at the mind’s windows?

has it shattered? the shards
may be blazing among the bones
buried under this big old empty house –
i will dig up dead poets to find them

because beyond the window
it is just possible to see what you mean
(something more than fields and showers
clothed in silver for the spring)
and i love you, and want to say it

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