When It Rains

Small towers in the neck of the sun. Breathe slowly. The fallen raindrops. Clothes off. She takes the funeral quietly. A muted sneeze. The disease all over her. She pulls a tissue from the bunch. So certain in the repetition.

Writing the math in yellow chalk. On a dinghy blackboard. Deleting it with coughing erasers. Pythagoras wakes up from his grave. To tell her. It isn't squared.

Finding the island. As lost as it has been. Makes me wonder. At the arrogance of the equation. A thousand times then. A thousand times more. I add them up. And still have nothing.

The rabbit with the icicle in her hand. Swallows the cold. Wears the weather. In her skin. Content. In her quest. To wait. For the sun to shine again.