And I am released,
in a wash of flowing lines,
All by the tone of my skin,
the wave of my hair,
and the curve of my lips.

And the streets open before me,
with patterings of rain, tinkering on metal,
Echoes of footsteps,
resound in space and the dripping air.

Drops, scattered like broken glass,
on the sidewalk,
wash over my feet,
with each step taken away.