Freckles

freckles-

they splatter the outer lining of my window like coffee stains

and they pour, too,

from the whitewashed sky above

and as they fall they murmur.

perhaps the language of stars is rather more drizzle than dust

and these droplets gracing the earth are mere aspirations.

yes, these tears feed the flowers

and me as well. 

my dreams and concoctions will bathe in the flood

and when the sun is reborn

conjure freckles of their own.