Hard rain falling, black night rolls by under the thunder,
The old woman nodded off two stations ago, stupid little dog,
Tucked under her coat and newspaper for covers, she snores,
While we sit staring into hard rains falling in the black
Night express to Stanford; local from there; stop after stop.
Shit.
All the way to Groton she stared, and I wanting to sleep
Stared out, electric blue bolts in the sheets and then black.
I felt close to some kind of God, some kind of Deity
Which could create sublime sound in the female flesh
Gyrating a resonant rhythm, lifting with sex and
Waking our pitiful male members in the process.
There was no bar car, the train rolling, heavily,
Pouring rain, down pouring, heavy curtains filling
Passing streets, rushing torrents running, running,
Rushing down to everywhere, like us, like this love.
At last the old woman falls over and dog with her.
You look at me and laugh, reaching for my hand.
Pressing your nose to the dark window as light
Trickles on the horizon in preview to dawn.
Belly up to the Bar 