The rush hour rain runs down
The glass in front of my eyes
As new houses trample on
The graves of old factories,
And letters fall from signs
That were always ignored anyway.

As I wait for another red light
To turn to green once more,
I wonder what you're seeing,
Where the rush hour will take
A few more hours to arrive.

I wonder if the rain is falling
Where you are, or whether
The Sun is making you smile.
If the rain is with you, I hope
It is the same rain that I see
And not that which falls from
Your eyes and rolls down your cheek.

It's nice to know that we're living
Under the same sky, though
I wish we were close enough
To share each raindrop
As it falls from the heavens.

It's also nice to think that,
If distance through the Earth
Is considered, we're not as
Far apart as we think.

And one day, if teleportation
Became possible, I could simply
Be where you are as soon as
I wish it; then we could hug
Whenever we want to, and I could
Show you all the wonderful
Sunsets I see and take you for
Walks to all the best viewpoints.

Alas, that is not today.
I can't introduce you to this
Wonderful example of quality haulage
On which I sit, or the
Magnificent vista of factory rubble
Under overcast skies.

However, in my mind you sit
Next to me, and we watch
The rain on the window as it
Blinds us to the rush hour.

06/13/2002

Posted on 06/13/2002
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