That rise
From sidewalks
In pouring rain,
Past voices
That rebuked
My youth
Return again;
As lines of rain
Weave a tapestry
Of pain,
Crackling with
Crumpled cellophane.
In haunted doorways
Down the lane
Faces smirk
That I suffer pain—
Not erased
By benzocaine.
Brooding sylphs
Long thought forgot
Tempt me
To at least unlock
Memories distant
As storms on Venus…
Bruised and aching,
But better
Than nothing.