My windows are pockmarked and
the world refracted into a
m i l l i o n g l a s s y f r a g m e n t s .
Raindrops come to die here –
they s c a t
' t e r their souls and return unfulfilled to their heavens.
So I wonder, if snowflakes are individually unique,
' special and beautiful,
' what does it mean that raindrops aren't?
Because if I were a globule of water descended onto Earth,
to coax flowers out of slumber and seeds out of shells,
' I would question why instead of happiness I manufacture fear;
' I would ponder the tears of the downtrodden;
' and I would find a way to fill the vacancy left in their eyes.
Raindrops aren't meant for skirting between eyelashes and
traversing the dunes and valleys of a human face.
We want to
on your lips and feel you sigh in worship
at the vastness of the skies and the beauty of a nimbostratus.
' drip drip.