Nadir

The rain

drops

like Antinous

from royal

arms into

the Nile.

Crocodile

tears,

in sheets

until

each trades

swords

and thus

swaps roles.

I weep,

you drown.

You weep,

I drown.

Sheets

of it,

rivulets of

lapis lazuli

into which

a boy fit neatly:

clean-blue

like dry eyes,

like the dull

drone of

fake orisons.