You imagine me writing in the
cushioned by leaden skies.
I imagine you but
fail to remember the prayers that once
fell soft and dewy like rainbows
waiting for clouds to break and the light to
harden frost to ice, and
litter the ground with rainbows
for a new year.
You imagine me writing
summoning new words and incantations
conjuring an absence more present and
I imagine writing in the falling rain
dripping words on a page.