Untainted blossoms grew to flesh as they should.
Dust hugged knolls knew more.
Sun-worn cloth draped to her sternum.
To ward off the passing of warmth-
Warmth brought a heavy air
An air to be sent back to the ocean,
The air knew what it carried
It carried it all, but never had to let go.

The rain falls all the same
On every field of old feather and seed
The rain fell all the same
On every concrete upheaval, those with corners
They always have corners.
The rain cares not for the sound it makes
Only the fall.
To be alone.
The return to dry earth, forgotten.
Rich blood in a warm heart.

Leaves pile and rot.
Hands exhume themselves.
Sunset stained cloth,
not covering her eyes.
Her eyes.
The colour was sharp.
There was no rain.
Air held itself in sharp layers,
She knew the smell.
Her eyes drew colour from that air
and what it could do.


She held the rain before it could return.
Snowflakes formed on her lips;
Words that fell,
how they loved to fall.
Carried by her sighs,
the snow never touched the ground.
There she stayed
her toes not quite touching bare earth.
Her words carried her.

Yuki was not the rain,
Although she knew it all too well,
she was intricate potential.
Her form was chosen.
A manifest of all the beauty the world had.