crystals of salt and rain

rain leaves cold wet
flicker green yellow red
street shoe breath let
jacket dark sigh dead

greet glance metal raise
stride smile wave naïve
fading drop still gaze
lone sadness hidden sieve

leaving strut smirk say
“safe shallow not guard”
puddle crossing drench away
hole deep hurt scarred

bright bitter flood feel
wind frost rain air
salt taste lump real
feelings burn sear bare

and years go by with no one there

***

Empty soda cans scattered over the papery grass;
the aluminum crunches softly as I stop towards the lone gravestone.
The December rain kisses the rock gently, while the last leaves of fall lie
wet and heavy on its surface.
I feel the cold on my skin like a shawl of seclusion, and remember
the days when the boys drove in bestial frenzy across the street, but
no one saw the lone figure standing with her sign raised, or cared
for her sanguine life force bleeding into the leaves –
there is paint on the inscription, false, screaming
and I, the solitary, touch my fingers to the virus
and the salt crystals glitter on the dying grass as I
slowly, gently, trace the words – the rain falls, ceaselessly –
watching them blur before my eyes:
green yellow red…