Through winter rains, there are no cloud formations. Up above, just the grey hanging and bearing down. The vista spreads wide into the distance, as far as the memory extends.
Days you wish you could dream away. I hear the trickle of guitar cords: it percolates like raindrops dripping off galvanized roofs.
Silver skies, but there is no respite from the rain,
so hangs the longing.
The trees are static.
Shallow breathing while deep-sea diving, I am drowning in an…