I stand in the
Pouring rain
At the middle of
The field,
Waiting for the
Deluge to obliterate
My tears,
Thunder to iron
Flat their history,
Rendering them
Meaningless and
Mundane.
Yet I am dreaming,
The smallest
Of flakes drift
Through the single digit
Morning,
Tingling against my
Face.
I crinkle as I smile,
And embrace where
I am.
Categories: Poetry