The stars tilt in the no-moon sky,
Becoming pupils to the watery eyes dripping
Down the pane of my window.
Cloudless rain flings itself towards the light,
The safety of my indoors.
I shy away from the wail of the drops--
Their misery somehow arouses guilt
From the spaces between ribs.
The slap-sting of their terror on glass
Forces hands to ears
To prevent the sound from becoming
A memory.
"Pointless,"
The wind screams, gnashing branches.
My own droplets leak from my shame,
Salty and safe as they warm to my skin,
Offering their sympathy.
But their brethren are still dying.