I’m sitting on one of the fractional remnants of a glacier.
Long since forgotten and seldom thought.

Overlooking a lake of pitted glass under a hard rain.
Unrealistic and more often than not unwelcome.

Puddles form and multiply like dandelions.
Only to serve no real purpose before their demise.

The moon remains distant and callous.
A gentle reminder of a fate well deserved.

This rock, this lake. It’s where I go in my head when you’re gone.
And it always rains.