The rain

I stand in the rain vulnerable

and feel it running

on my blue-tinged skin,

cold and wet,

and fresh and honest

in its bodily caress

that reminds me of

the touch of death.


The rain bathes

my body through immersion

with its heavy drops

as relentless

as bullets in war,

though these don’t

penetrate my body,

just my leaden thoughts.


I stand in the rain

as fools do,

shedding the warm veil

of comforting words

and confront

with each drop

the cold touch of

my dripping searching soul.