The Fractal Journal
Integrative Analysis
Rain (Poem)
There is nothing left
Except the rain
Deft
The flitting cross the main
A throughfare
So subtly here
Yet nearly there
This vertically fissile air
Broken by the waters
That had grown wings
A myria glimmering daughters
Too lofty for even kings
For none can catch
That which is stretching
Back to earth to latch
Forver reaching
For the next
Dew course
From sea to air
From source
To source
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