Writing

It melts as soon as it touches the palm of your hand.

You watch it fall down from the sky as if it is the first time you have ever seen it.

It brings back memories from when you were little.

on the water floats 

lovely and green and pale pink 

a flock of frail birds.

I've seen how this goes before,

Over and over—

I paint your unclouded skies with gray,

I'm the rain in your more-than-perfect day. 

Who was the idea you had of me?

Her mascara wasn't running down

You are lying on wet sand. You look down. 

The coarse, damp grains cling to your fingers. 

They look ghostly white in the black sunlight. 

The sky is completely devoid of light, 

1.

CHAPTER I

I’ve been drowning for many, many years. Down and down I sink, reaching forever and ever upward only to find fistful after fistful of water.