Poetry
Apres le Pluie
James G. Koch
Yes, I knew he was a
Runaway on the street
With decal eyes in the yellow lamplight.
But you could not understand
Why he stood in the night-rains
And as I neared him,
How his eyes captured mine and whispered:
The rains are beautiful,
Still I am cold.
That's when the rains stopped
And only the gutter's trickle
Remained outside my window
How my sad rain-boy
Whispered soft wisdom of the street corners
Saying softly:
Thanks, it's good to be warm.
Why his eyes held the mystery of night,
And his face the power of storm-skies,
And his words the warmth of my bed.