Rain and Smoke

The rain falls down
like fabric to my skin;
Dust upon her clay;
Red earth in the hills.

There was a speck of truth
in the way she held my eyes—
like a train through the night;
The smoke rose with wine.

The rain which I drank
like a voice fallen asleep
in the grand scheme of things—
the child in me sang.

There was a speck of dirt
in the glass she poured on me—
as if baptism made me free—
but on this red earth will I stay.

Tired eyes—
which never shut to her,
like the north star to my sail;
or church bells in my ears.

There was nobody else.
Just the rain upon my skin,
the light scanning my dress—
as if colors made me dim.

Clench my fists in yours—
like a flower to her bee,
make me your sweetest honey
in the warmest company.

The rain soaks through my skin—
but you are dry as fire,
counting little sheep
in a voice that cracks like me.

There was nobody else.
Just the gray between my hairs—
and the green stinging my eyes,
like a whistle in the night.

And on this bed of stones—
I am eggshells on red earth.
I am high above the sea,
but I am drowning in my ways.

And so I shed my blood.
And so I lay my head,
bending backwards toward my death—
joining rain and smoke in birth.

written on 02/10/2010 by: Matt Kane