late night

by margaret atwood from true stories

late night and rain wakes me, a downpour,
wind thrashing in the leaves, huge
ears, huge feathers,
like some chased animal, a giant
dog or wild boar. thunder & shivering
windows; from the tin roof
the rush of water.

i lie askew under the net,
tangled in damp cloth, salt in my hair.
when this clears there will be fireflies
& stars, brighter than anywhere,
which i could contemplate at times
of panic. lightyears, think of it.

screw poetry, it's you i want,
your taste, rain
on you, mouth on your skin.