Rain Rises
Feb.29.08

Rain flutters down like sheets; I
crumple with them,
heading towards the most perfect of
Dreams. I only know
what life has given me to know.
Do I like where I’m led? Do I despise it?
It rises up like mist, against gravity, as
cars and buses and people hurry, it’s
led by wind. Does it like where it’s headed?
Cliché yet endless is this cycle
falling and wondering, softly, what is the point?
Does all the world revolve and do all the people bustle
merely for this?
Does calling it what it is make it better or worse?
Why is it that I turn into clouds?