have thought that
fire
would float,
while droplets
of rainbow-
flecked
water don't
at all?
You taste salt
on your lips
where the blades
of rain fall—
much colder,
but similar
in taste
to the tears
that would roll,
warm and full,
when you thought
you were
alone;
but still you
don't get
how the logistics
are supposed
to work:
where on Earth
is all of that
salt kept, for instance?
Are there silos
full of breezes?
Warehouses
of starlight?
Is someone
out there
guarding all
the yet-unfallen snow?
Does a gross mis-
understanding cause
the soul to
weigh extra?
If there's more
to this world
than ecstatic
apprehension,
do you really
need to know?
