Thinking About So-Many Souls at the Beginning of a Rainstorm

They're out there: little packages
of soul wrapped tightly in their skins. Some buried

deep in the stack while others are visible
at the rim. Now, as I look across sky

gray-dark clouds hanging low
pregnant with wind and rain, I think:

they must be seeing this too

from some other direction or just below
the stormline. A few early raindrops

collide against glass and I know
there are millions more to come.

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