Tip tip, tap tap, splat sputter, tap,
Sky pulls a grey cover over her pretty
blue face to hide her sadness.
She works to stay quiet but her crying
lets loose tears to earth sounding like
plucked harp strings or a struggling brook
in the midst of Winter's ice.
I feel the cold in her hands reaching
toward my face and into my blood.
She says, "I ask for little, just a little verse,
just a momentary touch as it is so distant
and cold up here. So ethereal is this
existence and I want to feel, for once,
something warm besides a shower
of fiery meteors caught in my hair."
October 15, 2007