Danaë and the Golden Rain

Whatever returns from oblivion returns to find a voice - Louise Glück

Blame the dream: the mist
of your fingers filling my palm. Drinking
you are the epitome
of rain. Drowning.

Yourself, who? Who was it that rained
on the girl and made her a woman. Let me
be rain. Let me grow a seed
in your body like

all those myths your mother tied
to your mind when you were trying
to fall asleep. You are
beautiful. Let me slip

off your stockings. My friend
will hold you
up, will cage
the rain-wilted petals

of your mouth
so my mother
doesn’t hear you fluttering. We
won’t leave you

unbound. You are light
and liable to float away
like mist rising upward from my palm,
you might sing

of the sting of rain
when I need you
to be silent. Let me slip
myself inside you

as you close your eyes. Try
not to see me. I am smiling. You
are sleeping.
When I have planted rain

inside you, I will lay you
to the dark heart of ground

Author's Note

2021