I cradle the rain in the curves of my ears
[its coldness reaches my neck like hands of a lover]

I understand the weight of silence, of fallen drops
balancing on yellowed leaves, the sadness
which the branch cannot carry.

Their burdens slide from waxy ceilings to the corners
of my hands–the riverbeds of my palms–
seeking to be absorbed, to evaporate away
from the humiliation of falling.

[My lover] he knows not the unyielding grief
of the apple tree which carries his weight,
shelters his eyes, covers his shirt to keep him
dry when the rain begins to fall again.

She will love the rain
and when it passes, the silence will be an emptiness
heavier than the chilled moisture,
rain on yellowed leaves
in early autumn.

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