November 21st.

upon her skin

light as a cloud

drops of water lie

clinging to the surface

of wax paper and dreams

and things that never were

and everything in between;

above her head

gravity takes control

pressing hard against the cavern

of a crow's cracking cranium

with nothing to stop it;

and it hurts

and it fills,

the soft drip-drop of rain

the only thing left

to maintain her sanity.