Symmetry is lost.
Uneven scars on my hands.
A long sliver divides
one of my wrists in two.
A thick, wizened scrape
completes the line of a pointer finger.
This is how I know
Right from Left.

And my direction
comes from my mistakes.
My orientation
from a mixture
of hate and fate.
My scars ruin my symmetry,
and teach me to distinguish
Right from Left.

I walked through the damp grass,
across the grimy pavement that shone,
coffee mug in hand.
the drops fell in
and I drank the rain

And my body expanded
because it contained the sky
on my tongue, down my throat
in my core, in my soul
I drank the rain

My mind was a cloud pattern
my arms were the wind
my eyes turned to hail
my fingernails dripped off my hands,
they turned to rain.

My eyelashes were the snow
on my autumn sky face
And my feet sank into the soil
nurturing the grass
As i sweat out the rain

I puddled on the ground,
reflected the emerging sun
I condensed to rejoin the sky
and formed a cloud of my own
and began again, to rain