Is it Raining?

Is it raining?

Filmy beads of translucent moisture,

drip from the windowpane,

which frames the beyond that we cannot see.

The branches of massive oaks sway,

those grounded gods who whisper secrets,

that we do not heed -

caught in a picture, stashed away in a forgotten drawer,

unfolding a memory within a memory.

A mirror of that turbulent and arresting world,

that holds truth somewhere at its base,

crystal sea- blue eyes cascade rivers,

of promise,

leaking trains of glittering diamonds onto my neck.

A twisted face, that howls and swells as those trees,

in the extraneous world, outside of us,

that I have cast aside and locked away,

forever,

finding my answers only in the way that

your eyes resemble the rain I once knew.

* This work has been copyrighted and is the sole property of the author