Pluck a Raindrop Before its Fall The weather works its way through our bones, air, struck from life, thins by the gesturing sea, the bring cycle. Let’s squeeze sky into rain. Light, like all feathers, gathers to make us bird. The many-eyed cloud with its crackle-blinks— we write our way through grief. Clothes handle the future now. Blood once played beneath— O robin in morning, tree-frogged leaf, we’re as layered as paper and don’t know how to fold.