The sleet-worn streets under the hush of slush
My skin prickles at the thought of a snow-blind wind
From my shelf, I survey those sure-footed steppers
Under the gray slate sky

So parched for sunlight, I forget thirst
The hiss of a shower slips my grasp
The obliterating rush of a summer storm
The mist of the marsh
The pocks in the sand

Even if one day
Persephone were to return to Earth
I am now so deformed
That I would run from true water’s embrace

Lament me, verify me, adorn me, inundate me
I cannot remember the rain

⟡

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