Rain here

His hands are older than him, but these are the liquid light washes, down in the deep end days, just me thick around the boys who blow bubbles and the ones who hold their breath. Any hands will do. Quiet funeral of umbrellas, the wrong shoes in the right puddles, no edge to some pools. Best be under a better place when the rain comes in. Best be synchronized swimmers than out here in the bay without a routine or flowers for your hair. Knowing now that rain tastes different here, a little salty like it's never given up the sea, but the tide has shifted and the land pulls away, salt on your tongue, wet your forehead. Any hands will do.