The silence is broken by the lone dove’s call,
I am one, and one and all. The streetlamps glitter
their soft reply to the moonlight: grinning faces of yellow light.
Fat droplets fall on me, tiny forearm hairs slicked down
like a young boy’s. I am one of them: raindrop rolling down
my face. The cooing beckoning call
Of an afternoon, of a night. My ankles giving way to the asphalt,
I could be the rain. I could find a simple joy
and replenish the earth with it;
The owls call, the dove grows silent. He is
angry now, a mad dash of a sport
because I am reckless.
I am the reckless night, the endless skin
of a woman whose expanses reach
across the shadows and blot out
Every last streetlamp glow;
I could be the rain – a rain to cleanse and remove,
I could be made new.
All Writers United
A place for any and all writers to share their brilliance.