it rained
soft bubbly drops in muddy puddles
scents of summer nights
brought memories of once when
into the misty breeze
i spoke your name
but the drops applauding spring
fell too loud to hear your voice
grey clouds hid away
the dreamy blue jean dusk
i knew your voice was lost
inside the eerie ink of night
i don't listen for it anymore
but rather gather rain
in antique wooden buckets
to gaze at my own reflection in silence
-Ryn, May 2007