The rain won’t fall today, but leaves will fall.

Cigarettes ash from ennui hands

And careless tongues let fall a heavy word.

Lips fall open to say, wait; unsay it, but

Still falls no rain from your scorched eyes,

Skies ice-blue, seared and barren, a wound of wind.

The tears won’t fall though leaves like screaming fall

And hearts fall hard from clumsy loving hands.

Motes of moisture-seeking tiny lives

Drift futile pixies in chilly air, the sky’s sharp steel leaching heat

Into strained atmospheres; you make the tea.

We clean the house. Order is a monotone retreat

Toward sleep’s release from leechlight entropy of bright blue day.

Washed by dreams of muffled thunder from heartless beds,

I will yet embrace you crying on the threshold, hold you

Crying in the doorway, step out under quilted skies

And catch with soft fingers the skies that fall.