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....
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