i lie beside the open window
and let droplets from the storm
spray down upon the crystal clear slither of skin,
wrist and arm,
holding the curtain ajar.
i hear the notes like pirouettes,
the clatter on the faded brick.
it all comes clean with the storm.
collected like lost summer days
i sat waiting on your return.
and into pores, through blood stream,
i let it in like you
like the window open wide
as most were simple streams,
it and you were the tide.

mostly closing signs.
how long can droplets form
crystal clear moonlit storm
semi-circular on skin
why did i let it in?

but vast, the mountain-valley-sea.
the northern-south, western-east.
like window, mouth, my star-ly speech
i spoke in circles, or patterned veils
connecting points of light into darkened clouds.
let rest what lies, let stand what weaves
colored perfume, the sprinkled streets
the path before and the rift between.
i saw the sin long ago
curl within and build its nest
but this window
only works one way.