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Vancouver Rain


A sea mist,
born by
winds of the west,
soft, so soft,
that I can walk
a hundred miles,
and not
get wet,
sifts down,
sifts down
upon me,
from
the dark,
dark sky.

And yet
I believe,
it is wet enough
to hide my tears,
from those
that
pass me by.

If they
see anything,
I hope
they think
that I must have
a bit of dust,
or an eyelash,
stuck with in
my eyes.

For I am a man,
and,
it would
not do,
to let strangers
see me cry.

Though it is
but little water,
it does in
truth,
soften my
loneliness,
puts a façade
upon my pain.

Street lights,
stop lights,
harsh cold glare,
are mellowed,
by a soft,
golden glow.

Jagged,
snow capped
peaks
disappear.
Grimy brick,
and stone,
melt and blend,
beneath
the weight,
of heavens
gentle tears.

I see my brief
reflection,
as I look inside
the dining room,
at happy people.
People laughing,
people loving
and being loved.

For a time,
I wish things
were other
than they are.

Because for me,
there is but
this dark,
this lonely night,
and the sad,
bitter tears,
washed away
for now
by the soft,
soft, Vancouver rain.

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