STREAKED WINDOWS

When rain is caught on the window in
small drops, drip by drip slipping down
the glass like falling tears that linger on
the skin, finding hold in the hollows shaped
by covered bone, not absorbed but stopped, like thoughts
suspended or a hand reaching out pulled back,
then too much to be stayed, drops, streaking
the cheek with watery stain, drawn downward by
gravity until vanished from face, the drops pooling
on the window sill, a small pond of pain.

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