the smell of green earth and the
smell of the promise of water grow
into a roar of cold, a susseration
of the scent of sweet rain that does
not end until every moment is drowned,
lost under the subharmonics of sod, the
echoes of grass and soil that sound
counterpoint to the wet chill
sneaking beneath the door, under the
blanket, as seductive as the pure notes
of a crystal glass of wine, but the
only sound that lingers, that silences
the rain, is the warmth
of your breath.
