I Was Glad It Rained I
was glad it was raining. Halifax Sitting, staring,
in the same morning robe as a dozen morn-ing robes and coffee cups before,
it all came back: The dark city by the Atlantic. Your bright red hair and your peach mouth. . . . . . Smiling and not wanting to look into my eyes for then you might have given something away.Day I did not look down upon my adopted city of Los Angeles that morning with vague   tepid     revulsion. . . The way I so often did in those unwell days from the 737 Jumbo window. This was new. . . It was the sun that hit my eyes, maybe like warm soft Junior Mints. Then I awoke on that day fifty Sundays ago. . . an Angel in my arms and the blue morning sky smelled like ruthless, clear adventure. And as I held her, she became my youth the future, I was in it.
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