revising a poem

OK, let's try the revising thing again. This time let's go for one from August 9, 1997. I find it limp and uninspiring. I can kinda see some things starting to develop, I mean that last line is interesting and the "hard sharp edge of worth" is ... not good exactly but has the beginnings of something.

Here it is, as it appears in the notebook:

Let me hold your hand.
Let me hold your hand somewhere.
Somewhere in the house.
In the house on the beach with the rain falling.
The rain falling like coins from a slot machine, splashing.
Splashing onto, out of, splashing against.
The riches of splashing, the gold of the river, the silver.
Silver without light, the hard sharp edge of worth.
What’s worth it, what’s worth darkness, what’s the crash out of darkness.

Let me hold your hand.
Let me hold your hand where it is in the cold room in your lap.