It came crashing down in torrents and waves.
Nothing was untouched.
The moon glares down with its compelling glow and I watch.
Behind the windshield I watch and feel the spray.
The car cuts a path through the distorted cold graves.
Water wings soar towards the gray sky on either side.
And I would’ve called serendipity if I believed in fate.
The roads curve up from their deathbeds and groan like black smoke.
It is a deathless place under the sheets of time.
The curtain that drapes over the hue of day hangs over my head.
It is heavy with grief, and so are the leaves, and so am I.
The droplets hit the ground at uneven intervals and I begin to count back the years.
My father looks to the horizon and sees his homeland.
My mother looks backwards and sees only the hushed dark street.
My brother has his eyes closed and he sees nothing.
I am sitting under the metal canopy and hearing the rain.
I am sitting under the weight of tragedy and watching the rain.
I do not remember the color blue.