Wet Blossoms

It is the height of spring. Warm one day, showers the next, and all the while the trees are heavy with tissue blossoms, so many and cut by hand. It is dark outside and raining, and I walk in the rain and touch the wet-by-rain blossoms. And this, this is what I want to be. This feeling, the soft and light of the wet blossoms that send droplets running all the way down my arm, from hand to armpit, and then down my side. It is the feeling of the water that my hair collects and sends off the end of my nose and the feeling of the rain that gathers on my chest and then runs between and down.