like the gentle sounds of a pot boiling in another room;
like a soft, caressing press
of an ambient gray sonnet soundscape squeezed into a green painting,
of blue sky crushed into gray and seasoned with sunlight's kiss.
The sky of a rainfall at mid day glimmers with
a glowing moistness beneath lowering, frowning clouds;
a shining radiance on the cusp of coming brightness;
a gathering darkness that breaks like the cry no longer able to be contained.
The passing of a rainfall at mid day leaves behind
the stunning blue of a well-watered, weathered sky;
the soggy soil slowing impatient bustle and hurry;
the shimmering puddles reflecting parting clouds riding across watery trails;
And my heart washed from cares—if only for a moment—
while listening to the rain which at mid day falls.
- D. Benning
No comments:
Post a Comment