The Woman Who Collected Rain Drops

Where Isak roamed daily, a route in the city, he paced for years undisturbed,

It all lead up to a day where he was uprooted from routine, after work,

To the end of his hairs, the tips of his toes, the burst veins in his eyes.

 

Isak, like always, climbed the steps of the tallest building at the nigh of day,

To watch the sunset serve him ecstasy like ice cream after stressful work shifts.

It was going to be another perfect sunset, but when Isak reached floor 7,

Something in the walls pounded them like snare drums.

When he reached the top, floor 109th, a tall pointed umbrella was propped along the last step.

He picked it up and pushed the door open.

 

The wind whipped Isak’s skin like dragging tiny fangs,

Raindrops fat & heavy, plopped into puddles already formed on the roof.

The clouds lit up like an overabundance of fireworks, flashing through fog,

But the smell of electricity stung his nostrils.

 

At the edge, amidst showers and shadows,

A tireless silhouette picked up coffee cans placed in clusters on the ground,

And tossed them over the edge.

 

Isak wrapped a hand tightly onto the railing,

Stumbled to her, shouting through his other arm for her to just stop.

But the woman ignored his form and call, and continued to do her service.

Cans scattered everywhere, collecting rain. And when they filled up,

The woman picked them up and gleefully watched them plummet into the city’s abyss.

 

The closer Isak got, the more his eyes acknowledged

Her face peaking out like a slice of the moon, amongst a silvery bustle of bouncy locks.

Her eyes stayed down but they strangely seemed illuminated like crystals in sun,

She was beautiful. She was collecting the rain drops.

 

The next can she reached for, he dashed over to kick it aside.

Her eyes flew up like flags in the wind, with so many stars twinkling in them,

She withdrew in her shawl, a darker shade of blue, pulled the hood tighter,

Searched for another can.

 

Isak asked her if the umbrella he found was hers.

And it was.

She walked over to get it,

Isak deftly grabbed her wrist. She pulled her arms to her chest,

Leaned into his body, Rose up like a water spout,

And brushed his lips with hers, to forget the wicked & splintered storm, reality.

She was surreal, she fell back and tugged his arm forward,

And he complied in a sudden knowing he was comfortable.

The railing had given way near the end and winded down the side of the building as a vine.

Grass grew from the puddles, so dense, it was spongy to step on,

But it led to an edge, like a cliff, somewhere naturally high up, escaped from the city.

They reached that near edge, Isak fell under the spell of vertigo,
Recoiled from her perfect touch,

And fell to his chest.

She fell with him. A crackle of lightning struck the underbelly of the cliff,

Rocks loosened and fell, the surface trembled, a crack between the differences grew and unzipped.

 

Isak crawled over like a crab, and mounted the crevice.

A leg on cement, a leg on The spongy turf,

He only had to jump, but held a little longer

Isak looked back to see his earthly split second angel had risen to her feet,

As the edge slipped and sloped further down the side,

She had exclaimed awareness in her eyes She wanted to be on his side,

And something unknowing but, deep inside Isak yearned to be on hers.

 

He jumped though.  On the other side he stood up, yanked up the vine dangling,

And threw the end over to her side.

She shook her head, but smiled the best she could.

He autonomously picked up a can full of rain and lunged out to put it in her extended fingers.

It was what she wanted, but it was extra weight.

 

The crevice spread and pushed off the building’s wall,

To be swallowed in the black stomach of the starving night

Along with The Woman Who Collected The Rain Drops.

 

Though, she was gone, something in his heartbeat felt familiar,

It remained warm.

They knew there would be another time,

Another place, where they would meet again,

Hopefully watching a beautiful sunset.

 

The storm still raged, but Isak picked up a can,

Looked into its silver reflecting surface,

And drank from it like a goblet until empty.

It filled his head with a special feeling

Only the rarest and luckiest people encounter

In many lifetimes.

He took the umbrella and went back to the door.

 

Isak descended the stairs, drenched and dripping,

His shoes squished with every step,

When he reached the ground floor, he opened the door-

And it was going to be a beautiful sunset.

So he turned around.

Went back up to go watch it.

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