which causes more pain:
my dread
of the rain, or getting
caught in the real thing?
True, of the two, only
one front comes suddenly,
oblivious to my designs
and my lack
of protection—only one
poisons physically,
with stings and slaps
of ruthless cold
which seep
from clammy clothes
into bones.
But still, it would seem
my apprehension
costs the larger fee,
since at least,
for all its most
savage machinations,
the rain never rains
inside of me.
