Friday, February 28, 2014

Rain



Hear the method of repair
the air is filled with a low hum
across the nape of  naked trees
I feel like I still hold the leaves
the weight like feathers now

The fabric will not remain so quiet
it will touch me until I'm clogged
and a season will grow within the ditch
soon dimpling the overflow off curb
awash within the noisy gutters rise
until I can at last lay down a word of me

that flows down the river
          to the sea

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