Again this morning, the same exasperating
thought came creeping
in to invade the illusory
sanctuary of my privacy,
came skulking
in on its tiptoes to wake me up early
like a small child, irritatingly
terrified of the thunder—
how come? the
rain is only
the rain when it's
falling—and
ever after,
we just call
it all
water?
For the last time, there's no such thing,
I mumbled rolling over,
as knowing things. There's only
knowing names of
the differences
between them.
