Simple Spring Showers From My Fathers Cabin

Fast, always too fast as it hits the roof spills , pours over eaves and the wisteria suffocates playground jacks scatter across laughter’s single cloud of grey white light. Arms rest on a splintered shelf keeps the life outside, i press a tiny index finger write a coded breath note against the single pane clutched with water varicose veins; can it see me smile from my chest lay its softness across dogwood blossoms concentrate to hear them feed. A final kiss of spring clings to her slip, reveals a true body out of grammar into new flesh; if I too tilt back my head, open my mouth, funnel in rain, become the springtime blossom, will I drown?