There is a billowing wind just outside the window –
The sideways rain scrapes the glass and collects on the frame’s exterior ledge.
Pulling back the curtains introduces a remarkable chill.
A cheek and a hand are pressed to the glass’s face.
The low-hanging grayness swirls and churns.
The cattails and tall reeds dance in the wetness.
Leopold the Insane speaks condescendingly,
But the water drop trails on the glass are perfect and never recreated.
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