Thursday, December 5, 2013

The rain, a hand through it


The rain, a hand through it,
the mist, a veil — as if memory were arriving
and departing at the same time, and thereby
leaving its firm imprint — a face? — no,
something far more real than that: love?
yes, love — else why the chill,
and the fever it leaves
behind?



4 comments:

Nazia Mallick said...

I looked down and noticed goosebumps on my arms. I love this love, William.

William Michaelian said...

Thanks very much, Nazia, and it is lovely of you to say.

Jonathan Chant said...

This is gorgeous. Great write, William.

William Michaelian said...

Thank you, Jonathan.