It rains in a language we learn
On small legs and sunlit eyes
One we let go of on a sunny day
To learn a tongue that is ours alone
Made out of dew drops on transient days,
And all the thoughts we collect in ceramic jars
Fragile and crestfallen
At all this love we never accounted for
But on some evenings,
With the sun weaving orange
Into the air around us in shimmering streams
We may hear that old tale
And remember its meaning once again
Of the warmth that lives inside storms
A story that translates
Into the words we forge
From liaisons into a livid sea
Only on a dusk
When the sky forgets
About all the shades of blue
We first learnt it from.
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