Night Rain

Only the weeping darksky
Could annihilate the aftermath aroma
Of a chicken, oil and mushroom tea
That lingers on my turtleneck
As I make my way to the library.
Only it can grow scents of time
Gone, washed away upon my chest.

Were the darksky’s tears
To form two lips upon the air,
I’d surely return my own.

Were they to enter
Me, though, I would
Likely die. Erupting
Into wet carrion, then
Taken up into the night.
For the darksky’s lonely
Tears have conquered
Already my body.
There is no space
Left for sadness.

And why should there be?
Teases of lips ride
The night to lead
Street-walkers safely
To their destination.

The night is never alone
And neither am I.