The rain was tiring,
still heavy, yet hinting at its intention to lull and spot with random fall.
You moved to sleep, while I watched night-gales shadow play
with moonlight and twig puppets.
And your hair appeared to flow across
the pillow, bored with your torpor.
What innocents were we,
thinking love was an amulet,
that dawn is always welcome,
let us keep this night as our day
so we need not open our eyes,
but listen to the tiring rain.