Tropospheric Knives

Stumbling up the asphalt 

Tripping on the threads of rain that compose the carpet

A homogeneous mixture of salt and water trickling down my forehead.

A forehead that struggles up the asphalt

Slipping on the ice rink of sodden leaves.

Blue lines cut open the sky

and leave the air a concert for nature’s rock band.

Turning around and falling 

As rumbling chases the fading of My mind

“Keep up” and worry that I may never see Him again.