Folio

Pluviophile

Jase Marshall

I am the rain;

falling.

Whether in love,

or into the grips of sadness

I crave the rain,

the sounds,

the smell it brings,

pluviophilic to my core.

I see the rain,

changing.

No constant state,

falling, pooling, rising, falling.

Without the rain,

lifeless.

Nothing can grow;

drab mirage, a dry oasis.

I watch the rain,

fickle.

Bringing new hope,

washing away all that we knew.

I’m still the rain,

rising.

From the gutter,

a clean slate, fresh, starting again.