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The Preacher's Love
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IT'S WET OUT AGAIN

It's wet out again,
And your tears run down the windowpane.
Touching them brings you back.
Damp patches on my fingertips,

Cool receptacle of our love.
Your tears are salty as I savour their memory.
Salty, soft and tentative.
This one, our wedding day;
Your face is reflected in its shape,
Framing your beauty from within.
Here, our child's first hurt. 
You cried with her.
I, not being there, cried later.
The harsh taste of your mother's death;
As she gave up her struggle and left you behind.
All things wiped away now.
With the edge of a curtain.


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