Rain call

I press my face to the cool glass
and watch the rain
streaking down from clouds
as grey as stone,
but lighted.
The rain is beautiful
and the wind that catches
in the chimneys and branches
a low call, so sad
I look, and see
no one
and in stockinged feet,
open the door.
It's cold out
and the damp creeps up
numbing my feet
but I smile,
shoulders back,
eyes closed,
face to the sky.
In my mind I am beautiful
as the rain, tiny droplets
pelts my skin,
I am free
like the wind that pulls
at thick hair and soul.
I am singing
like the rain and the wind
and the moving clouds
together harmonic.
I am
me,
a girl, in stockinged feet
alone
in the rain.