Rain In the Sickroom

Nebula is paltering with his bucket of water banging it against the buckets of other children. And soon the clamour of their noisy gang beats the rhythm for the tripping water. I’m reaching out for you, I harvest a few drops I come to sprinkle their infant dew — foolishly scattered by those not old enough to know it’s later to be sought out — upon your face. Your eyes are looking through the eyelids, indulging in the fresh juice of heaven heedless of the azure curtains drawn around you, heedless of the windows, the walls, the wails. You’re running faster than any seabird You’re playing jollier than any child You’re seeing farther than any eye sleeping, dreaming, motionless