Baroque Dreams

If you can live with these
And wet streets
The rain has swept clean
Of crowds and reveries
And Fridays lost

You may understand me
And perhaps you must
For I am the last
Of a passing throng
Of men gone wrong

I find no space
In a heartless age
Am happiest in wind and rain
And the slender chance
We might meet again

I watch the ways
The wind bends dark willows
And can say for certain
Your tresses are as lovely

Your dark eyes
A secluded cloister
Where wet leaves scatter
In a downpour

And we discreetly meet
Where no one gathers
And shelter
In an alcove

Like tiny sparrows under eaves
Cling to each other
In the pudder of dreams
That drives us together again.