Dish soap-soaked hands
Dreams stuck to the bottom of these ***** pots
I wash and dry
still thinking about the rain in September And holding onto drops of July
Silence, a gentle hum, an occasional cough my eyes fixed on searching for all those planets
And blue moons
But never making it past the windowpane home to reflections of an unrecognizable face

I revel in how fast this life changes
and how much I miss the rain