I have never been to Belfast
but I imagine that when I do,
it will be raining and I will be in love,
because I am always in love
and somewhere it is always raining.

Oh, for instance the vision of
your blue eyes still rains down
the inside of my heart,
on the special occasions when I
remember not to forget you,
and even in my dreams
when we drive down foreign streets
lit by gasoline-powered streetlamps,
again, rain.

I imagine impossibly
that as we drive down narrow streets,
if we just took a few moments
out of being in love in the rain
to glance out the window,
even through the tinted windows,
and the deepening storm clouds,
and the fact that I have never been to Belfast,
we would see stars.