Rain

The rain falls upon her shoulders
We long for the measure to form
Cancer
Quietly leaning
Hoping its measure
Look for silver belonging
The only
Echoes
Empty pleasure rippled dusty
Really quite beautiful she says
Her hair matted
Her mouth full of spit
The sky is lilting
The truth is walking away
Speckled thin
The fruits ripen
Our soul is turning
Tighten our belts
If we lie very still
I can picture the horses
My spine is crumbling
But there is Alice
My friend when all I lost.