The Shape of Rain
Absolent as the flap of my pocket
around which rain escapes,
chilled, to trace the veins of my hand;
winter numbing rain.
Numb we close to sight.
Chin tucked.
Projecting with the fight of enfolding shoulders.
From above we might see.
See ourselves mimicking our torment.
But we can only feel
with plodding steps.
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