Fluid
by Michelle Pascua 


On the gray-vapored, rain-swept avenue,
High above his figure, spattered with dew,
A solitary man grasps his umbrella

With glassy inverted trees slipping by
Saturated dents reflecting the sky
He gazes into the mirror

His umbrella spills ripples, concealing
What lucid depressions were revealing
He mistakes his tears for rain

And his image drowns in the silent wake.

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Copyright © 2003 by Michelle Pascua.

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