CK Tower
"...my body remembers that life and cries for the lost parts of itself..." -OliverYesterday there weren't any words for rain
murmuring to pavement, or the sway of street
fluorescence dancing inside a dozen
tiny lagoons, each one pooled over
a gritty black ribbon. Seven hundred
days without a voice and an ear for song,
and it was nothing but the irrelevance
of one rough surface enticing water
to sing a mizzling cadence, or the wet
breath of midnight exhaling an opaque
melody into concrete silence. One
or both reminded me how a body
can hunger for half-forgotten lyrics,
how after seven-hundred silent days
words can be found in dark measures of rain.
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