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high above

high above, i am unsettled inside my cumulous chariot,
and below, i see your familiar body lying against a patio,
spread-eagle like a sacrifice. your eyes look upward,
challenging, and it is then i understand and commence
my slow descent. it begins with pitter-patters of drops and
then large ones that stain the ground, but then i release
my wrath, sending sharp stinging pricks and sheets of water
upon you. but you soak it all in; you don’t even move. only
when i wrench the last of myself from this lofty cloud, and
only when your hair is darkened and stringy, and your
clothes are drenched and heavy, and your skin is cold and
clammy, do you rise from the patio. it is then i see what you
were protecting: a patch of dry, clean concrete beneath
your back. how is it that i, a force of nature that causes
mudslides and floods and can wash entire cities, cannot touch
this spot of concrete?
but no matter, i only hope you are strong enough
to protect it piece before i wash it away.



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alfavetta said...
Oct. 20, 2009 at 6:48 am:
Wow. It wasn't until the end of the poem did I actually understand it. It's really good!
 
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