If she had cried…would it take away the ghastliness of great surprise?

Even as a witness…to her rain…

A gentle, caressing touch that penetrates the skin.

Humidity and its warming coat…left gingerly behind…

Among this…could I begin, again?

…

As a crow flies, tears fall from the skies.

Yet, never from a solemn women’s eyes.

…

Water pounds like a fist coursing itself from the heavens.

The road ahead, still parched and unforgiving.

…

As the crow flies, tears fall from the skies.

Yet, never from a solemn women’s eyes.