Monday, February 16, 2004

the raindrops dance like
wild bees, cursiv
and dizzy, as if
spinning with the quick
steps of a young
lady, her curves
made out by
the fast breaks
of falling water
against her shadow,
the raindrops sing
her name on every city
street, on every roof
top, on every window
panel, begging to
catch another
glimpse of her, itching
to drop and
kiss her ground