Before the storm
My wanderings last night before the storm hit. And these sweet, little buildings seemed to speak to me.
All pics taken from my Blackberry, from my car window, and I didn’t crop or edit them, though I probably should have. Still might, now that I think about it.
All night the sound had
come back again,
and again falls
this quite, persistent rain.
What am I to myself
that must be remembered,
insisted upon
so often? Is it
that never the ease,
even the hardness,
of rain falling
will have for me
something other than this,
something not so insistent–
am I to be locked in this
final uneasiness.
Love, if you love me,
lie next to me.
Be for me, like rain,
the getting out
of the tiredness, the fatuousness, the semi-
lust of intentional indifference.
Be wet
with a decent happiness.
The Rain, by Robert Creeley
objets d'vertu 