D. H. LAWRENCE
THERE IS RAIN IN ME
There is rain in me
running down, running down, trickling
away from memory.
There is ocean in me
swaying, swaying O, so deep
so fathomlessly black
and spurting suddenly up, snow-white, like snow leopards
high and clawing with rage at the cliffs of the soul
then disappearing back with a hiss
of eternal salt rage; angry is old ocean within a man.