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the eye
it’s coming down again.
trees inhale deeply, then shake as they exhale
they shudder it off
clouds thicken, shielding—
unyielding—
hidden. silently drenching each blade
of grass, every flower is crumpled
and hope fades with the light
is it dusk? when did it get so dark?
flickering—the lightning comes alone,
when no one is watching,
and no one sees.
the brilliance is for me alone—
charring and destructive,
the strike is haunting and piercing and
my blood runs cold
but the rain does not stop,
does not freeze,
will not please
could not appease
millions of umbrellas, rainboots, windbreakers—
or tissues, blankets, pillows,
they are soaked with me
and i am breaking
if my heart breaks, its blood will spill across the ground
the grass will relish its pain
the rain will wash it away again
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i tried to write about both a storm and an internal storm--some kind of guttural sadness that acts as a storm and overtakes you.