It has been raining all day,
The moss covered conifers drip and drain,
Their pores secrete a slick black blood,
Lichen laden branches reach toward the smudgy window like fingers,
Always reaching,
Grasping for the fluorescent light in the classroom.

Past the hand crowded window,
The misty walls of the valley can be seen,
We are in a bowl,
I hope to God the rain will rage,
Sending a heavy deluge of bitterness at the earth,
Filling up this basin,
Causing a deep dark,
Sloshing lake of cold, muddy water.

I watch the steady curtain of rain,
Rainwater drizzles down the chain link,
It drips and drops from one link to the next,
Until it hits the soil.

The soil.
Soft, damp, and black.
It is never thirsty here.
Constantly drowning,
The sobbing clouds ever present, distraught.
However,
The soil can never console the sky.

The vast expanse of simple air divides them.