I wanted to go out and dance in the rain like a child. My soul had already gone out in front of me. Floating like the dancer on the stage. Arching forwards, aching, limbering out, climbing fairy-footed into a stretch, grace gliding and I too wanted to move. My body was moving in hers, echoing her footsteps, treading the air, slipping away like a wisp, a wisp of cotton, gossamer, freedom. Striking our love and I know that you will never belong to me. On the stage. Inspiring others to stretch like a cat. Into the sunshine. Into the smile. Into the glory. And give them a purpose. A carefree playfulness. Like a child dancing in the rain. And I wish I could stretch into your arms again. Your poetry lives not in the lines. But in your life. You are a poem. Out of this world. Circling into our orbits. Making existence richer. The rain misting down I could barely feel it on my body. But yet I felt it. Touching. Skin. Fleeting. Bliss and gone. Yet your hope burns on. Trickling down, trickling down. Into the pores. Caressing. Guiding. The light.