Silk
Rain falls My hair feels soft Its layered tips brush my neck It doesn't sting as in the previous days Where the heat turns it into needles Rain falls My boy sings I read About mountains and roads and love Uncommon but love just the same. Rain falls The book pages are flecked with age Storage for words simple, unfrilled blunt as with my Chinese heritage Rain falls My boy continues to sing My hair feels soft I continue to read The rain has ceased But the cold it leaves is comforting turning needles into cloths of silk Rain fell I pick up the pen And I write these.