I Am The Rain

I am the rain. I travel barefoot 
from country to country.
Wind plays in my hair
with its slender, brown hand.

My thin spider web dress
more gray than suffering.
I am alone. Only occasionally
I play with a sick deer.

I hold strings in my hand
sheathed with all the tears ever 
loosened from a pale girl’s mouth.

I take them 
late at night from shaking girls
who live so close to their longing.

I am the rain. I travel barefoot
from country to country.
Wind plays in my hair
with its slender, brown hand.