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Rain is not the absence of sunshine
or simply a way to cleanse the air,
but it does rinse off the beads of sunlight

Still clinging to your hair.
Yet, as the sky bruises and boils,
A simmering cauldron

of purple and grey
and on the front porch
lay our dusty traveling shoes
and things we never found words to say,
I can still see the pearls
and iridescent opals
of the dissipated sunrise,
Clean and freshly laundered
Behind your rain-splattered

blue, blue eyes.





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