A storm is coming. The
rain is starting. The drizzle
trickles down the window pane, and the
clouded light dims the room. In the gloom,
all alone, I can see clearly, hear plainly,
the rain falling, calling, a pitter-patter
chit-chat that picks at my mind
all the time, whispering, ‘listen, listen
listen to me’. I can see sheets of
spit unfurling from the sky, sailing down
and down the fathoms of air
from the mothership clouds
above. A remembered dream
comes to me and I recall with
unease the ease of the fall from
the mast of a sailing ship
down down down
into the unending sea,
deepening and
unbreathing me,
awakening me as a child to the
failing family, the unfathering,
lost and drifting and abandoned, to
the worries of a world that I still
do not understand
as a man.
I am breathless once more at the
memory restored.
And the rain falls faster
and the world turns colder
and life grows harder
and harder to know.
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