You are the rain
that wets my skin
and leaves me cold.
You touch what clings to my skin,
like water,
you stick to it,
you resemble it
in the rain.
Staring me down like
a cloud overhanging
or a tree over-shading,
or the wind that
makes my hair stand on their ends.
You stick like water,
drip down
and flutter like the breeze.
Like the blessing
that raises trees
and crops
and rivers,
you raise a field in me.
You are a root,
you are a tree,
and I am the soil,
I am the grass.
The gale.
You are a gale
in the rain,
you envelop me.
And we are skin to skin
wet to wet
cold to cold,
clinging to what is left of you,
of me,
of us,
drying in the rain.
