Leaving
I waited out the rain
at a friends place
cutting my bike
through the Air
I see up ahead
the roof of a gas station
if ever there was something
magical
about the roof of a gas station
it would be their lights
shining in the dusk
I am hot, and sticky
and the air rolls over my forehead
like curtains
but the breeze is at my back for once
sending me
towards the lights
through the puddles
beneath the clouds
whose weight presses me
tired from crying
orange from fire.
We needed that rain.
We needed that rain.
