elusive words


Silver rain falls
        in stinging skewers
            as I traipse

beneath street lamps.
    Their warm glow
        tosses haloes

over my head
    like ideas for poems.
        I hunch, cross my arms

over my Shetland wool
    sweater.  It’s not that
        I’m against

the pyramid-slant
    of the watery slashes,
        the wrong words that splat

randomly on the empty page.
    I just wonder
        why the reams of water

in this cold air
    aren’t snowflakes
        sprinkled like powdered sugar,

a smattering 
    of white freckles
        on my florid cheeks,

pearl-like words
    on a blank
        black page.



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