by Karin Boye

Many Voices Speak.
Yours is like water.
Yours is like rain,
when it falls through the night.
Murmuring deeply,
sinking tentatively,
slow, hesitant,
painfully alive.

Rippling like shallows
behind all sounds,
trickling and dripping
against my skin,
shrouding softly,
closing me in,
filling my ears
with whispering memories.

I want to sit quietly
where I cannot disturb you.
I want to live and dwell
where I can hear you.
Many voices speak.
Through them all
I hear only yours
falling as a night rain.