It is spoken.

The rain hasn't started
but I can hear it.
It is screaming from the thick morbid
veil across the sky

It is moaning through the fabric
tousled by the wind

It is spoken by the quiet
voices inside coffee shops

It is heard as the roots cry out
to the clouds for life

and the leaves breath in
the ladden air

the rain hasn't started
but I can hear it.


twilight (in progress)

Silhouettes
Outlines
Figures in black
Claim the skyline

They're standing still
immobile
and yet fluidly alive
transforming the present
by releasing the past

The conifers become giants
each mountain, a dragon
their darkness breathing life
to the solemn blue blanket of night

And their fire is seen in the heavens
with each new flicker of light
found in the dimming dry ocean
calling all to the evening's warmth