Friday, September 2, 2022


How strange it is
to realize
we're familiar

with the feeling we get
in the tips
of our fingers

just before it
starts to rain.

How comfortably blasé 
as we peer 
from a window

to watch as a few more
ominous clouds 

how normal it is 
for our prim little corner 

of the world 
to go intermittently dark 
and askew;

and how amenable 
we can be 

to disliking 
what we're seeing 

when we deem it coherent
with our poor, 
tortured bodies: 

these consistently abused 
but tenacious lands
within us

which periodically 
get soaked, and then 
dried off a little, 

but will never be offered
the chance 
to start new.