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.


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