The car's inside is still when coffee spills
on the floor down the door.
The rain permeates the smell
that is the memory
- the only attachment I've made
with Winter.
And the snow, of course
I love it when the rain comes down
and makes holes in the snow.
It's well-formed,
the way a single drop plops down on your side
window and sprints across the glass to
explode into another drop that's
resting on the tip.
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