Fractals

Many winters, I lived
where there was no winter.
Instead I lived within 
cycles of heat and rain,

which had no names
other than what they were.
Scorched skin or flooded
skin. The mouths 

of downspouts always
open, never resting 
between begging for more
or begging for less.

The smallest diamond
of loss is still a loss—
whether in the sand, or to
the superfluity of water.