It just stopped raining
I can see the droplets
Personal galaxies glinting at me
Sunk deep in the depths
Of the gulf of sky
But I cannot write
Anymore
About the unconquerable distance
Between myself and the droplets in the window
Just inside the pane
A foot away from me
Any longer
Or how when I edge out my hand to touch
The glass
How I feel friction
And not the cooling stroke
Of water on my finger
Like a cold drink slipping down your throat
In summer
After a long hot shirtless clammy run
Sweat threatening to drown your eyes
How can I sit
And write about the streetlamps
Like candles
Lighting the hushed
Coal of an old black tablecloth
Brightened by the gleaming
Ivory china of plates
The perfect romantic dinner

It just stopped raining
The street is still
It could be an old photo
Sepia-toned
Rough and faded at the edges
I watch
As a single car glides through
My line of sight
Before slipping away
And out of memory