The rain pinched the glass
of the windowpane.

The rain’s tiny pelts nagged at the glass
like the conversation
she was avoiding having.

The avoidance made her feel
removed from herself
while at the same time even more

The room in which she sat
was well lit, so outside
looked like asphalt
on a playground’s court.

She could see the orange ball,
bouncing lower, lower, lower —
until it stopped.

The ball, its visibility, then disappearance,
reminded her
that her words, too, dissolved like this.

Or were her words, against the dark,
a bright, bright blue?