fit within a metaphor,
most nights a rainstorm is a rainstorm
no matter how much you grow to love
and respect the rain
it will fuck you;
at a time when you just didn’t need it to;
and 70 km away from home,
with no cover to park your bike under,
you wonder, why did i even attempt this?
because to love
isn’t brave,
it’s foolish;
wanting good for someone else
more than you want yourself
runs against
the very skin
i am wearing,
and i know so
because every time i feel it,
i wonder, why would she ever do that for me?
and little by little
here to there
seems less like
something to work out or endure
and more like
everything i’m moving toward;
and so another meter homeward,
into the lightning that is dancing through the storm clouds
like promised rain and self doubt,
and
wearing all of it,
like wetness and distance,
i tie wishes to the red kites that are her affections,
and fly moonlight into dark skies,
like candle flames;
the wind is an old friend
and he holds them in view,
like promises
and all i ever needed to come find you;
tonight, i ran into a rainstorm;
either or,
i wouldn’t change a thing from here to there.
