drizzle

the only thing i have, that nobody knows i have, is this hill when

it is full of weather. i

feel alone in it, watching these clouds puff through the valleys,

filling the empty space between spruce tips with thick bubbles

of sky water and ground mist.

i crave the wind and the singular sound of

rain on my skin, the slick cheeks, salty lips, and light prism eye lashes

at the spot where there are no more horizons,

just one sky that begins on the tiny hairs on my nose.

there is a universe contained in each drop of water, complex and

full and enough for a life of study and love.

the snow bites my ankles as i slip through it, fingers white

then pinched red from clutching through the top layer of sharp.

the lower fog feathers against the sea. it cycles visions of islands that

are sometimes there and sometimes lost, with other things,

beneath the screen of white.

the grasses beneath my feet are matted to the ground

and my thoughts are movements and not sentences. 

i move slower than storms and i think i am inside of this one, inside of a

cloud at least. before, the wet rolled over my back in waves of water,

but is now steady and thick. the rain doesn't seem to be coming

down as much as living in the air as one drop. i miss certain things, up here, alone--

the glow of zoe's curly brown hair in the kitchen as the sun falls,

charlotte's gap toothed laugh coated in melted chocolate and thick espresso,

rachel’s home mugs she makes to go from her white walled apartment.

they feel quite far from the hill they may never know exists, even if they, too,

live in storms, and watch clouds, and feel far from the ones they love,

wondering, each day, how to all

live in the same drop of water.

dls