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17.
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Silver Drops
Silver drops of rain falling
into my cup held tight
between my knees, like
friends I am collecting them.
Rain slides like a pearl off
of every green leaf, but it
never lays a hand on me.
No one ever lays a hand on me.
Three bearded clouds look
down from the sky, at odds
with each other, but never with
me. Black eyes scowl beneath
their bushy brows, they are my
three sky fathers protecting me.
Look up, look up and you'll see
why no one ever lays a hand on
me.
In the attic of your home, in
the
attic of your library, books pile
up, blocking the window and
the mirror, throwing a pillow over
all mouths with their blankets
of dust. You stand way up there
with your hands in your pocket.
I am down on the ground
collecting drops of rain, like
collecting friends, safe, safe,
and pink, pink; no one ever
lays a hand on me.
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