It can go either way, provocation or pacification, despite my love, my tearing heart, the rain can only go so far. The drumming insists on a dampness, some truth, comforting without consolation, without sunshine's demand, the reveal avoided. The day begins like dusk, breaking the carrion fever. The music of heartbeat rendering an illusion of safety deep in the forest. How will it end, the sodden day, a liminal light hung, speechless, wet and torn, a remnant of purpose and possibly of peace?