PHILIP RICE

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Riding my bike home

Riding my bike home
in the rain and the cold, wet air
proving to me beyond a shadow
that autumn is almost
unsecreted to this soiled world.

Shine the still leaves
O sky, bring your thousand
transparencies close to my face
and my hair so that
light is everywhere.

You, my almost darling
are sitting somewhere in a room
with right angles that cannot ask
what shape water droplets take
or what color fall will be.