She is a Happy Person.

The Skies.

And when her gaze
rakes across
the crooked beds
of the sky.

She huffs a small
crooked breath
and allows herself
to cry.

For the drizzle and plunder
of the storm and thunder
is a blissful,
dribbling disguise.

She stands stark cold
her tears all gone
hidden under the rains
and the skies.