it's practically impractical to speak
of the metaphorical but the
influence of the inconceivable forces
us to look deeper and
imagine what we could have
done on a September 31st.

we wouldn't waste the day
drinking tea or taking notes,
and i would walk without
tripping or slipping "college"
randomly into stress-free conversation.

i'd sit still and feel
the world moves slowly around
a hidden sun while the
tireless rain beats rhythmically on
a window slightly cracked open.

the rain would speak to
us with tears in its
throat about emotion and devotion
to things we care about
that september didn't have the
time to give to us.