This Morning

The rain

tipped into our gaze, dashed sideways

and caused the street to shine a liquid black.

A sopping flicker scurried across the breeze.

That morning,

the orange shadows of rock and sand

grew deep into the blue downpour.

By your car we embraced for warmth—tried to say goodbye

for like—an hour,

laughing at the skies oscillated kisses.

The rain changed intensity

like a dieing street lamp sputtering light

across an adobe mural painted in blue sand.

How the rain fell into us.

How the scene of it all glows so sharply in my mind,

it couldn't possibly have been so beautiful

it could'n possibly have been that beautiful I think

but I believe it had to have been. Even now

I realize that the morning the desert, the rain,

these things have always been that beautiful.

It was you, your electric kiss

that shocked this epoch into my senses.

This morning

I know no other way to reach for you

but to assault the horizon with your memory,

but to create teal streaks as I glance into this expanding sunrise.

Ç Myrlin Hepworth, 2011