527 The sound of May late afternoon rain

Hitting the house, the window, 
The driveway in the front,
The wind, forcefully blowing around the trees,
No city sounds, no bird peeps, no, not for now.


These are a great comfort to me
As I sit here, in front of this machine,
This tool, perpetually risking being made to look
The fool by my own devices.


But later on, in the mail
My Tracy Jones will have written me back
another letter, and even though if we were to pass on the street
She would not recognize me
I would always know her.
For we are each others' guardian angels, 
And this would be a MOST powerful and awesome confluence.