The rain sparkling all the way down that day,
A man skipping on stilts between the showers,
Two tumblers in the artist’s square, the hours
We spent in the galleries and the way
The sun surprised the rain and blinded us
Briefly with its colliding molecules.
But soon the afternoon again was pools
Under a high, bright blaze, and all that was
Was once again after all what had been,
What we saw once again what we had seen.
Truthfully? Even before the rain came,
We knew that nothing would ever be the same.
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