Writing & Memory

Untitled

Trying find a moment of peace in this busy day, it’s like

Trying to see the ripples from a pebble you throw into a pond ruffled by wind.

I’m watching the rain fall, hard, in windblown sheets
Sheets that shroud the sky and the earth and the air between.
Air that is warm and thick and wet and grey, like dishwater
Dove grey if you want to make it sound sweeter.

No thunder, though, which is an angry sound
As if angry gods were setting off cannons at each other.

Trying to find a moment of peace in this busy day, it’s like
Trying to find the line that separates rain-grey sea and sky.
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