After the rain
I chase storm shadows
as though in the leaf litter
of fallen words -- of fallen tears
I could recreate
the canopy of yesterday

Words are not leaves
though they loosen themselves
easily enough in the tempest
of opposing pressures, battering fronts
and disturbed states

Tears are not rain
though they precipitate
in the long lost condensation
of remembered landscapes 
far beyond the horizon of now

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