Puppy, an Ex

All that’s​ dust has veins, its sprouting
nectar like weather that trampled the
soul and our supple downpour came.  I
recall but the flood of 6 years spent
in idle mud, as eyes turned and found
a city with stores and terraces, apartments
and old roads that used to sing as
loud as our rain-drenched hearts.
I recall, or hope it is true at the least,
that we would go out into soft sheets
of pelting crystals’ furore and find puddles
the size of our feet, that only shadows
or mucky memories could expire.  All that
was left, dead skin that had shed, and
old memories held too long in hope’s bed.
Where, now, for am I?  As was and to be is,
both a waking clarity of all pain saved
when lover’s rain dried on paved footprints
against​ my dusty corners’ bleeding lanes,
as I remembered the puddles that wrote:
“She is rain.”


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