Am I forever damned to breathe this sunny, southern air, browning skin like an onion that’s seen ages? Peering out of cars and windows, dirtied with smoke and periods of confusion, seeing clearly for some time is strange, for now it's by means of being trapped.
Am I forever like the sun, streaking clouds with heat and light that blinds the seeing with a painful glare? The light is so unfamiliar, after living in a night-time essence. Just like the crazed star above me, I’ll be a burnish in the skyline, raising temperatures around me to scorching stages. Just like the sun exceeding buildings and streetlights, I’ll watch the world subsist from a point far from interaction. Most of all I’ll watch the rain plummet from the clouds like angels on a mission of rescue.
Am I eternally doomed to rake the quintessence of time with thoughts of where and who, watching as the world falls through a clock of exploration, painfully desperate and perched far from contact like the sun, too dangerous to touch the delicate earth? The rain would fall below me, touching the land and the leaves, feeding all existence with a contribution of verve and vitality.
While I am roosting in a place that leaves me alone and unaided, I should watch the rain that replenishes life with its gift, protected and still guard to all that it touches.
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