Rain taps language on the stones
Salt sleeps under neighbor bones
My lamp rings low against the cold
Old swells break into gold
I rake the cinders from the western stair
The salt has left a silver thread to wear
Your old raincoat drips beside the amber light
I hold its scent through every shortening night
The gulls lie sleeping in the rusted gate
The fog moves softly where I used to wait
A bucket stirs the rain along the stones
And sends it running where the buried bones
Rain on warm stones, stay a while
Your salt is folded in a smile
Leave your fingers on the glass
Let the old lamp burn till the morning's past
The lamppost trembles when the thunder rolls
Cold fingers comb the mist from window frames
The kettle hisses till the ceiling glows
I smell the storm arrive before it shows
Rain on warm stones, stay a while
Your salt is folded in a smile
Leave your fingers on the glass
Let the old lamp burn till the morning's past
You said the sea would take its slow retreat
I left a lantern at your bare feet
The wind confessed what neither could
And washed us gently clean with flood
I found your matchbook where the ashes lie
The cover softened by the spray and sky
I read your name beneath a wavering beam
The rain said mine and drew a river through the dream
The empty chair is damp beside the door
I push the kettle till the kettle roars
Your faded sweater holds the morning damp
I breathe the rain in every broken lamp
Rain on warm stones, stay a while
Your salt is folded in a smile
Leave your fingers on the glass
Let the old lamp burn till the morning's past
The tide pulls back with every low light
I leave the porch lamp keeping watch tonight
The storm is gone, the stones remember
The rain that called me home in September
