112. RUNNING THROUGH FRANCE IN THE RAIN

RUNNING THROUGH FRANCE IN THE RAIN
It was only a moment but it seemed like a year:
my hands in your pouch, your boots clicking the bricks.
The tiny raindrops were circling through the air,
dripping from the brim of your hat as we ran.
It was like love in a shower, yet it was, really,
only rain : rain in the moonlight, rain in the fog,
rain in the sun of early early morning.
-
I remember streetlamps and the trolley;
the train which seemed never to stop.
You said you needed to stop, coffee, a
restroom, a break. I said I could
'run like this forever'.
-
Something changed.
Life took on new meaning.
Running through France in the rain.