By Annette Marie Hyder
Under the wind’s translucent sheets
raindrops sharp as knives and cold as steel,
but they don’t touch me.
It is as if there is a space of grace around me.
I am a sigh, a feather touch
against your black back
but you still feel me
through the leather of your jacket
and my hair, Medusa ribbons,
winds itself like a scarf of silk
streaming in the wind.