The clinger

I cling to everything,
like a creeper clings to a tree,
like spider webs clinging to the corners
of musty walls in an abandoned sanctuary.

I cling tightly, never letting go;
I am no monstrous leech,
but I may seem to be one.



Shocking white veins
Thread the sky
Silver lines lash down
Slashing the air into million strips
No blood pours,
But wetness escapes  like wild bees
And settles on everything  both visible and invisible.
The wetness pulls a friend along–memories,
Some pleasant and some unpleasant.
And nobody ever stares at a downpour
Without reminiscence.