No
I don't know enough
to get out of the rain
the chilly season just prior to winter
the trees lose their
leaves
needing to feel the
drip of it
off my brow
needing to wash off the dust
or as she might have put it
grains of quicksand
in order to feel clean again
I don't know better
than to stand here
near the river
we both have come to love
watching the prick of
drops
on the surface
as these drench me
unable to find any better shelter
than the limbs of trees
the drip drip of it
touching my life if not with pain
then with remembrance
the total recall that
which I found so appealing
and have since come
to regret
as I ponder the rain
and wonder vaguely
if she stands like I
stand
drenched by it all
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