Moistening Lips

take the day after the rain,
your clothes still hanging in the cellar,
the transparent white dress
a reminder of fog, whipped clouds,
and a crazy dash to the boat dock,
no shelter, just you,
me and the very wet rain.
not embarrassed, mostly just quiet, you held
me, pushing me against the black tree, my arms
gathering your wetness,
my lips pressed to yours,
my thudding heart trembling.
but the day after, the quiet
seemed wrong, the kids outside
puddling bare feet, raising voices
tumultuous, your own voice careful now,
not knowing when,
not knowing if,
not knowing I’d smile
or why not.