Canto CCCXXX

I never, ever moaned about the rain,
I liked unfurling black, umbrella wings
over my metre wide psychic domain;

loved how grass verges flushed and gutters sang
their warbly baritones. My pasty skin
could breath in those conditions, felt no pangs

of severance from our blazing mother sun,
the hydrogen homestead, our atoms’ maker.
We might be made of stars but life began

within the churning plenitude of water.

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1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. peter litton
    Jul 27, 2012 @ 00:01:26

    It has rained all summer. No trips to the coast, no kayaking on the river with sunlight rippling on the water and no sitting outside enjoying wine and barbecued food on warm summer evenings…I hate the fucking rain.

    Reply

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