Rain is pervasive in veiling
it coats you in its mystery
attempt to photograph it
and your lens grows cloudy.
stick your tongue out
and suddenly the clouds have parted:
rain falls everywhere
but on your tongue.
in these respects,
a strong cyclone
and a delicate drizzle
resemble one another
unless Wind is present
to send a chill down your spine.
Wind is the great unveiler
who blows away the safe-keepings of Rain
co-inhabits the skies
and dismantles the pocket of stealth
that Rain spills upon the world.
Wind clears up your lens
and bites your tongue
and guides your body
in the direction of truth.
Wind exposes the cold of Rain
for until she attempts to rid our
bodies of the foul liquid that
Rain has drenched us in,
we do not appreciate
the volume of water
that sticks to our clothes
sticks our clothes to our skin
weighs us down and
plants us into the dirt
to mingle with the filth below.
Wind removes the muck
that insulates us from
the frigid realities of life,
yet we despise Wind
when Rain is present
for we would much rather
feel secure in warm soil
than feel truth in cold air.