Am fine, send rain paint

The colours I add…

… in my little corner of the spectrum…

… in my little home in the rain,
washing my treasures
again
and again…

The colours I add,
the colours you give

when you tell me you love what was

so very hard
for a raindrop to give.

I wish you could see all the flowers out here,

giggling
and weeping
and flashing their pants

between those sacred sips of hope.

This is the touch between dismal things…

the leap of my heart when the telephone rings.

This is the magic I carry.

This is the heartbreak I hold.

This is the smile of that one paper doll
who
tore herself free
and tells her friends she’s doing fine.

This is the spirit that lives between homes
and runs between shoes…

and speaks with a passion
that only sparkles when I lose.

These are not stories
and this is not life,
and these are not bloodstains
and bills
and demands…

or fluffy,
dancing puppet strings
or any and all of those wonderful things
that crawl out the windows
and leap off the page…

trying to think if there’s someone to call
to cry to
and lie to
and let the world know that they’re still doing fine.

This is the poem that hides in my face,

flung into puddles and spun into space…

This is the fireball who tore himself free
and lives on the lie
that he’s just doing fine.

This is communion,
working the line.