The last time we spoke,
I had in mind a vision
of Pound’s Metro.
You said it was
a metaphor for death,
whereas I could not,
could never see it,
as anything other than
the bittersweet beauty
of life. Flashes of moments,
all too brief,
that woke in me the desire
to see the shadow
that defines the light,
and the silver
inside the rain.
