Soggy clouds. Drowns o’ rain. Black & white thunder.

The night I felt like collapsing on the steeple o’ the Temple o’ the Pink & Green Rose, though it brambled my skin. But its petals were my only grasp past the swamps.

But I didn’t. I tightened my robe from the rain, shivering in this cold pantry, hearing the violently warm rain try knocking.

& then it left to feed other crops. I hope they feel quenched.