Remembered

We walked through puddles of black water,

still as cold coffee . . . felt the thread-thin rain

blister on our faces and in our hair...

walked the midnight to still sleep and talked

of God and chance and future . . . those days

of undergraduate concern, my sweet, have riddled

deep into my drowsing will, have become

the me I talk about when I am all alone.

Listen. I hear nightrain shake its air

and old November is cranking up to start.

This is our time. Remember? Always,

an earnest young girl in a belted raincoat

is walking slowly toward me... her breath

is visible in the night, her loving palpable.

The lovely girl with tin drops of moisture

on her hairtips and eyes that sound happy

in the drizzle, brings back thoughts of God

and chance and time's cold cheating

and I hear you always speaking my single name

beneath the squeak of the rain's small wheels.