Plum-Black Rainscape

The sky was a shimmering plum-black
hiding the pain and cries of lost children
rain falling
like the Goddess’ tears from above
dogs barking leagues away
or running along 22nd avenue at 2am
a sliver of a moon rose and set
with the winds howling trough the trees
not like another place
where images of others are plastered on the wall
or are seen in a catalogue of sex toys
that no one will ever use
inflatable dolls
rubber sheep
and tears of blood on the cheeks of a child
who walked down Burnside a week ago making a promise
pretty perfect hedgerows all kept trimmed
seem to reflect the ideals of the local people
who drink themselves to sleep and talk of Britain
what do they understand
when they turn their heads
going back to the green
while a nephew falls in love with his best friend
none of it matters
we can crumble
as we hold each other on a balcony
dreaming no more
we are together as the rain washes us
cleansing us
under a sky of shimmering plum-black