The phone against my ear

The phone against my ear

couldn't hold the sound.

The window, a running screen

of blurred, smeared light.

It started as a drum tap, then a riot,

on the roof, on the glass.

The gutters choked, a gurgling, wet shout.

And something in the sheer, hard force

of it, the way it stripped the world

to raw, wet gleam, just let go.

Like a knot in my throat that finally, finally

opened.

No more soft answers.

Just the clean, cold fact of falling.