in the rain
e. e. cummings
In the rain-darkness,
the sunset
being sheathed i sit
and think of you the holy
city which is your face
your little cheeks the streets
of smiles
your eyes half-
thrush
half-angel and your drowsy
lips where float flowers of kiss
and
there is the sweet shy pirouette
your hair
and then
your dance song
soul rarely-beloved
a single star is
uttered, and i
think
of you