a polka dotted silence

Rain, a polka
dotted silence, reminds me of
autumn 2007 when I
found you in
Hillsboro Kansas. I adored your blue
soccershorts, lusted from a lawn
mower, earning
five bucks
an hour and watching glowing black
hair breeze in the sun. In your dorm, my
fingertips glossed brown freckled
cheeks, shivering
tears for your dead mother, and when you fell
asleep, my ribs came
warm in your breathing. Outside, it
stormed; delicate harmonic tones
chimed
against glass— inspiration music
to eager ears. I once was
someone who listened eagerly.