Trying to remember old dreams. A voice. Who came in.And meanwhile the rain all day all eveningquiet steady sound. Before it grew too darkwatched the blue iris leaning under the rainthe flame of the poppies guttered and went out.A voice. Almost recalled. There have been timesthe gods entered. Entered a room a caveA long enclosure where I was the fourth wall of ittoo distant or too dark to see. The birds are silentno moths at the lit windows. Only a swaying rosebushpierces the tables reflection raindrops gazing from it.There have been hands laid on my shoulders.What has been said to mehow has my life repliedThe rain the rain...