The rain falls and yet you still hold the sky somehow. Less than the silhouette crows or the seething gray. Less than the hint of a whisper. The rain falls and the street speaks your name aloud. The streets fill and somehow your silence soars.
There is that threat of thunder in the spark of your eyes. There is that utter calm granted by your gaze. The day sweeps and gushes, the world painted in an autumn palette. You declare yourself forever in the tilt of leaf and the dance of gutters. Blue veins and red bones, eyes like forever and a smile whetted on the moon. The dull trace of speeding traffic, the slow retort of a storm about to bloom.
A flower sulks in a dark window, bending before open blinds. A bird drinks from the dripping eaves. Feet fall in step with the deepening pulse of rain meeting street. A song silks between drops, from the circled impact to the jeweled rejects of heaven. All eyes follow the spilling skies, sight spattered in these cast off strings. I look towards the passing storm, feeling as if I just missed.
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