The rain has stopped but the leaves drop its tears as the wind continues to sway
The clouds are crawling in threads, pale and faded with their nimbus rags
The sky no longer scratches to see for the pitch has loosened its black
Below, I stand still, my skin shivering as its hairs dance slowly with a rhythm unknown
The worst is over, the spirits whisper without words of thunder
The silence turns into howling, pleading and persisting, but the plague lingers
The leaves continue to shed as I hear their cries, covert yet bursting
I look up and as my gaze singles out a tiny ball of cloud, a leaf decides to let go
The water once on the leaf's palm drops and finds my eye, precisely and painfully
I blink -- once, twice and more than thrice -- and I blink again
Yet and yet, the water stays unmoved as my head remains tilting against the void
Then, I bow. The water slowly leaves as it rubs my cheeks, hesitantly and fearfully
The water stops on my chin as if dropping will be the end of it
After all, though it has come from above -- from anything but me -- its entirety has been mine
It has entered my eye and has left it as if it is a tear I have succumbed
Then, drop, drop, drop. Drop. The water lays on the ground: spilled and scattered
The spirits shriek
And the howling grows
I feel my mouth twitching
And my eyes wailing
