Something

is blocking my internal view, sitting at this clearglass kitchen table, under colored lights waning after Christmas' wake flooding past as the froth of the morning dew doth burn off with the Sun's first rays... Rain echoes drop off sounding silences, bounding and tapping off each other's energy, falling with gravity till the end becomes new beginning, making its way back to the earth, toward a river - to the sea - to the clouds, to once again fall as rain. somewhere else on a future Christmas Day, somewhere, for something....