The Way Life Trembles

A special sort of loneliness exists in rain
Slick silver slivers of water that run down the windows
That bath our skin and cars and galoshes and umbrellas in clear water
Cascades over the colored leaves. 
The sunshine hides that evidence
You know the stuff
That comes up when you sit lonely in the bathroom in the darkness
Or stare at the stubbles of your fingernails after biting
Or acknowledge the blood dripping into the sink
Or the way the bottom of the coffee cup looks when it is empty
And you forget sometimes
That death comes
That everything around you is mobile
And finite
And evanescent
And drifting.