Let the rain divide you
into cold feet and spring
into the man at his edge and the one in the middle
into buddha's flute and its rage
the sea and your warm underbelly
into faces found in puddles and the ones still smiling
the drops sliding down and the windows looking up
into men who soar and graves that dig themselves
into your birth sung to you
and death in the deafness taken away
into cold feet and spring
into the man at his edge and the one in the middle
into buddha's flute and its rage
the sea and your warm underbelly
into faces found in puddles and the ones still smiling
the drops sliding down and the windows looking up
into men who soar and graves that dig themselves
into your birth sung to you
and death in the deafness taken away
let it rain
ReplyDelete:)
and i must also say, i love the line "the drops sliding down and the windows looking up"
what a beautiful turn of phrase
In life, we see dimly. Maybe we are deaf too. Death feels welcome. It always has.I don't fear death, only the path to death. Graves digging themselves. You words are as always, a delightful playground.
ReplyDeleteThank you jon and annie,
ReplyDeletefor letting it rain here...