This morning the rain, smelling of iron and mint and a place two time-zones away, falling from clouds grey and certain as innocence. The sky crying in the way humans only can once in a long while, in the way that exhausts just as it cleanses. Imagine, the earth, relieving herself like this not infrequently; imagine, the soft rain, coming in sheets, quiet as a promise.
This morning the rain against the roof of my car, a pleasant hello, each window waving her inside. She kissed my hair, misted my fingers on the wheel. The rain and I, we passed a truck, blue as a robins egg, inside the truck, a man smoking a cigarette wet from her kiss, but still lit. The sweet taste flew through the window, encompassed my car as if a memory, yes, the smell was that perfect. Imagine, the smoke making love to the rain, then imagine the taste of your own sweat falling into your smile, and you will know how I felt.
This morning I learned a thousand words for longing I did not have last dusk, so grasped by what cannot grasp back.
I don’t want to let go of the wrists of rain, her boldness, acting only of her own desires. I don’t want to sell my life to money. I don’t ever want to come out of the rain, I don’t ever want to unlearn her smell.
Are you there? Are you soaked in dreams still? Did I mention the rain lit up everything?