We are unwashed yet our mouths drool fresh rain.

I watch the drizzle skip like grasshoppers through your dark curls,

and even without her,

we are as alive as before. 

I confuse my tears with raindrops until they metamorphosize 

and my eyes bleed silver like watercolor,

becoming the storm clouds I idolize.

We are no longer grieving -

but breathing in 

something that paws softly at our dry throats.

You followed me out the modernized school doors,

into Mother Earth’s slippery fever dream.

We shedded our raincoats

like snakeskin

and stood raw and glistening in the rain.