rain

today i woke up with rain in my face.
so many words we said to each other
but now i don't know how they connect.
as if no order / forms / no sense.
all that you said, like rain.
made of so many individual droplets,
each one seems almost exactly the same,
hanging on its own in the air.
raindrops, that once were joined in your mouth,
but out here are just fragments,
falling down in sheets.
and i'm standing here staring,
searching for patterns,
but they change with the light,
and i'm tired of trying.

i stood in your rain
and you stood in mine.
now i'm soaked to the bone,
and i don't know where to move.
it's falling too thick,
there's no way through.
and i'm drenched, but still
it slides right off my skin,
puddles at my feet,
and i don't know what it means:
a blank of slate, a tree of fields,
a star of skies, a skin of peels.
a puddled lake on the floor distorting the light,
all surface and ripples,
and it would seem crude to move
a foot through there,
to stir up a muddy swirl of unclear.
so i'm standing here still and i cannot cross.

you said so many words,
and others you didn’t say at all.
and between gaps, fleeting, not quite caught,
i'm searching for the insides, the feelings behind,
but all i can see are these singular droplets:
tilt back my head and let them stream down my cheeks.
behind the rain is just fresh air.

the truth is --
the truth is, there are so many words, but none of them --
the truth is, there are no words to describe what you --
the truth is, you could have any of my words, but none of them --

all is silent now.
as if a great wave rolled through.
heaved me up and sunk me back down,
shifted me into something unrecognisable
that on the surface still looks the same.
and my body aches to move forwards
but i don't know how to navigate.
and my body aches to move towards,
but there is no sense left.

all is still,
after.
clear light,
full of scent.
the water's gone
and there's air inside air,
ground upon ground.
there's a softness here that has no sound.
cool skin marks out my body's edge.
full breath marks out the space of a chest.
and i'm sitting, trying to let it go.
and i'm going to try to let it sit.
i'm sitting, trying to let it go.