Seems appropriate, the rain¬¬—
Watching a rectangle hover in it—
Quite a vision to haunt you

Mahogany doesn’t fit you—
Nothing, in this case, could seem fitting

Faces blur with mom’s mascara¬¬—
Not knowing what is rain and what are tears

Seems appropriate, the rain—
Helping to hide faces
Beneath hoods and umbrellas

I want to cry with everyone
But I’m allergic to this grass and
I’m preoccupied with the blades
Touching my skin

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