I am an old sore, who waits for the rain
In my brittle body, who's latest exploits fail
To catch the desirable, my want of likely
Loves are frail when compared to your coquettish reaction

The rain is over the hill
Coming forward more drastically
Now, when summer deludes you
From self deprecations
And you flutter after affectionate graces
The world of the mind
Is pathetically finding folly in me.

In lashes brittle like books
Forgotten, my cat
An affectionate bore, my chairs
Gross with age and want
The sun strikes a glass on my eyes--
Cataracts like a very old man

On Sunday I felt the void of you
Striking, as noon broke open more
White birds on the Charles
And I wrote letters in fanciful departures--
It is the story of when we were knotted in work
Loving and grasping
From chances' inspiration,
Avoiding the blade of Mastery's will.