Scribble from old rains

Tossing between thirsty sheets
There is rain
Fighting
Rain
Prickling in my skin
Out there
Roams a little girl
I once saw
Hidden in cloth
Carrying an axe
Rain-smell in her hair
She
Navigates
Wide gashes
Bleeding, gathering

Rain

She trips on
A broken brick
I come awake
Breathe
The salt from
The cut near her brow

And

Rain

Will befriend her blood
That
Mingling
They may explore her face
And bring it to my fingers.