Rain plinks the shingles of a house br Where I’d sure like to live; br Rain engorges too the ever, ever waves br Of the sea persuading the mangroves br And the blind white birds tucked in br Where I’d sure like to live; br And rain finds a way in through the green br Grottos, br The bottle caps the ancient baseball: br Where there are virgins enraptured in pieta br And mussels, where br Noses uncork salty perfumes, where shallow br Reefs palpitate with silent green kelp; br And there are pagan footsteps reaching down br From where she left her husband stranded br With the green cannons, br And started down, all in a mess; she said br She was going to Spain, but it was only her br Body that wept, br And the milky white horses watching from the br Distant stones seemed not to sympathize br And she came down that way, br While I waited holding my breath for a wish br In some dark and lovely cave, br The rains kind of wondered about br Stepping softly, or happening upon her shoulders br As softly as the softest pain br Where I’d sure like to live.