Clipped, I fall
like fragrant dooms
of fresh mown grass.
I am sodden in my skin.
Grey matte clouds mask
the memory of sunlight.
I scoop moisture from the air,
humidity clings like a shroud.
The lank caress of nervousness
runs a bony finger
down my spine.
I spin to taste the wind.
I swallow percussions of air
and in the burst,
release.
Frantic wipers slap,
beat away the storm
and still nothing is clear.
A constant patina of rain
glazes the windshield,
droplets refracting light,
spinning
kaleidoscopes of regret
into covenants.
Under rainbows I linger clean.
Light ladders split the sky
dividing heaven
and earth
into transcendental avenues
of light.
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