when ends meet

i would go back,
i would return
to where the gray was water
and the pages fresh white
like newly soaked linen in air.
return to unseeing ignorance,
to the dry path before the rain
speckled it as it fell in torrents.
walk backwards down the trodden path
like mimicking faces in a rewinding black and white film
retracing the cobbled and crushing steps.
return to empty glass bottles
before they were shards
before they were filled with sand
before things became mementos
before words were written and said

Hour-glass, breathe up your sands;
Pages, flip not to the thin, worn, end;
Rain, the skies make roomier palaces
on vapours to spend. please, do not descend.


why do all things splatter when they fall/ hitting the cold hard real ground/ i can't run from the rain metaphor/ how does it feel like as the raindrop headed for the brawl?/ i suppose when all things thaw/ there's always the wall to break your fall.