in the rain but it is December I turn on the shower Feel the rain upon my eyelids imagine mud between my toes. Roses creep up the sides of the tub Little fairy fountains of raindrops from petal to leaf to ground. Flowers and the warm rain. One sentence that makes me feel something I know it should be a poem no other lines My heart sinks with the water a poem that will most likely not exist. I don’t have anything else. Just this line and it leads nowhere do it justice already have faded back into my blood. they must get out they must exist they must become words they might burn out if I don’t until then they will burn me. Something important about things that exist. Do you believe in what you cannot see? And suddenly I know the answer. what the paper cranes say images that won’t leave my mind demand to get out push outwards on skin of hands grow through with nails. They command I write them down. have because no one else will tell their stories like me. they exist want sit in a garden "In love and God space between electrons. What is poetry?"