22
I heard the sound of raining in your voice,
When silence was a hyphen linking days.
And days were dry and loneliness was moist,
When you brought water washing off your trace.
I saw my every sprout return to seeds,
When all your seeds were hiding in the soil.
And soil put on its biting widow-weeds,
When silence dried away your raining voice.
I smelled, I touched, I tasted every drop
Of thirsty words you hyphened for the rain.
And rain still sounds within my earthy clots,
When loneliness is hiding in my veins.
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