Fascinating how rain can trickle
its own path, choosing flecks
for detours down a window
I would like it to end here
but it goes over there
despite gravity’s—
Pores on a face can detour
fluids as capably as flecks
I expect.
You are over there staring into
some abyss of your own:
I hope it is a nicer place than this
carpeted mausoleum
that flies no skies but a rainbow
in your empty eyes.
A while ago, I drew an emoticon on the window,
traced it with my finger: colon close bracket.
It’s not how I feel, but how I meant to feel:
with my finger, on cool, moist glass.
