Plate

It began in friendship and turned into a glowing sun. Strong, bright and eventually explosive. How else could it be described. But to call it summer time rain, urgent and fresh with the musk of mud. Or maybe better, would be to call it, the crater at the bottom of the deepest ocean. Alone and a secret. Locked. Or maybe the exhilaration of a bird flapping its wings for the first time, soaring and soaring into the sky till it arrives. It was the tight knot of comraderie, and a promise, never to let go. And yet the knot loosens, the flight faulters, the crater floods and the summer begins again. Scorching heat, a desperate prayer for rain. And should it come, what form would it take? How would one live past the regret of yesterday's mistake? When the closest experience to that, is a reminder of the first cut. Or perhaps an imagination of what the world would look like, should all of the sun disappear.  So she slugs along, inch by inch, step by step. Was this grief she so