After the rain

And, with that, after the light
had not all the way gone

under the thinning cloud,
we did nothing with our

heads nearer to the window.
A splayed aquatic of tepid

blue became the air with an
underwater quality:

shimmering and filling and 
mute. It stained the walls -

painted our insides. Absorbed, 
we plunged our hands steady

in the quenching reflection, 
going where we always go

when holding our breath.