mooowww

We live our lives, for ever taking leave. –RM Rilke

It was raining when they buried you Even as I reached out, I could not touch you where those raindrops could Somehow they say they are the tears of angels And sitting here now—overlooking the window—I do not believe such nonsense I hear the quiet rumbling of the skies, almost ready to purge out its suffering once more Then I watch each raindrop fall, and tap on the roof outside Suddenly—as if in wistful anticipation—my heart races at the sound of footsteps on the floor from behind me Only to meet few droplets that have entered the hold in the ceiling And I break down once more.