A Walk in the Rain
Rain filled my boots and bubbled through the top stitching.I'm describing symbolic light in puddles, verse, paint and light itself,
just by being here, now the sky is clutered with metaphor.
As I walked through the rain I listened to the thrashing music of my heart.
Soon became a lake in the road, with yellow leaves floating,
and as the wind stilled so there seemed to be a spreading map.
All this time walking, the same route, the same houses,
but lately I've noticed the rain falls most swiftly right here,
in the verancular fork in the road, marked with bird blood.
*
Just when I know, there isn't any bubbling truth so it is the light
is well-versed and gets puddled into remembrance,
the sky embracing yet another filled-in painting of cluttered rain.
There is a map with so many musical lakes, it seems walking
is the only way to still the heart, to listen to the road.
Spreading the moment, like so many leaves becoming yellow.
I've made a fork out of swiftly fallen homes.
It's only now that I see the blood of vernacular routes and veins,
the same marks of time, as I walk with my dreaming bird.
posted by Cathy @ 1:02 PM
<< Home