it's raining here. now. most of my childhood days rolled into one blank sky. i don't wish the mourning glare of it all felt less comforting. instead, i sit in the window sill. clasp coffee mug between chest and lips. like some kind of practiced prayer. i haven't spent time on this edge in years. to watch trees prostrations. silent untongued languages. as if the repetition might make something clear. to look out.