For days and days
It has been raining.
I read book after boring book,
Or is it I who is the bore?

How quickly I cease movement.
I do not eat,
Do not sleep,
Plan the washing of my hair
To coincide
With the emptying of a bucket
To catch the leaks from rain.

No electricity now,
Over and over
I listen to Aida.
Exactly where I long to be
Entombed with Radames,
Entwined wisps of spirit breath
And, then, physical death together.

My inconvenient life,
My Radames is dead.

And now, the batteries are dead.

This gray morning
I grasp
I am not Aida,
A chaotic revelation.

I drag myself
Into the pouring rain,
To go in search of
Common things,
Carrots, potatoes,
Candles, matches.

I light the candles
Everywhere.
Make soup
With leftover pollo asado.

Eating my Romanian-Spanish chicken soup
A half spoon at a time,
Drinking a glass of wine,
Soft glow,
The blessings of electric light.

Listening to Miles Davis,
I remember.
Remembering,
I cannot listen to Coltrane.

That night I lay on the sofa
Piled high with blankets,
My eyes cast out on the wailing sea.
During breaks in the storm,
I see the faint lights of ships,
Imagine they are sailing
To the pyramids.

To each one until out of sight,
I say goodbye.

And, finally,
Fall asleep.