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Show SURVIVOR Days of rain, through grays of rain's falling, we made our own green weather, gathered, she and I with words and bells blending, with our friends, laughing over cobblestone till we became alone. In the dark rain-smelling room where the cookfire's red eye smouldered and the dog turned nervously three sleep-circles, my love lay in the cover of her hair long as rain, black as the raining dark, and I with her; there we listened to the rain down roof wash and run in lapping tongues through village and field, calling the river-till in the warm sweet of her hair she slept... and I with her.... Today I have not seen her. In the night in rain, in the sweet of our sleep, somewhere, some hour that river stood up tall a wall of fury from its natural bed and ran demented over the young wheat, over the chicken roosts and sleep-stabled goats, over threshold and lintel to hiss out the fire places- |