Rain Child

It’s warm in September
and the air is rancid,
after so many days of drought
hot clouds roll in the sky’s marrow

Tiredness bites the tendons,
I’m hardly running,
a butterfly rests on my front wrinkles
and there are still cobwebs
amongst the vines
vibrating before being torn
with a shard of smile

In the red eye corner
I’m painting a teardrop
so I can cry beneath the mask.
I put on my gray raincoat,
tightening the laces,
gusts of wind cut my arms
with a young forest hum,
they weigh rootless on my chest,
the air whimpers like a baby
and it starts raining

Categories: My Poems in 2010 | Tags: , , , , , , | Leave a comment

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