If you held my hand,
those angry storms that rush in
like muggers, and knock me from behind,
leaving me broken and breathless
on the ground-they wouldn’t come.
And the cold rain that stays for days
and bleeds its gray through every layer
of me-it would stay away.
And the ice that seizes me and my trees,
so still and frozen we can snap and fall
to pieces-it couldn’t form
if you held my hand,
If you
held
my
hand.
Talking to the Clouds 