Another Wet Sunday

The thing about rain is

the noise,

pattering on the roof

above my head as I type

disturbing the rhythm of my words.

The thing about rain is

the sound,

of tyres on streaming tarmac

outside my door.

The thing about rain is

the smell,

earthy, fungal, rich

reminding me I’m here

in the world, at this moment.

The thing about rain is,

the tactile memory of

streaming

running

surging

coolness on my skin.

I leave my desk and run

to the forest

behind the house

ankle deep

wet moss between toes

wet hair, wet lips

tongue reaching out to taste,

what?

You’re not here.

The thing about rain is,

it falls

My Eccentric Friend

Pour out your skies
of rain
damp tears, fetid fears
feeding the machine again
and then
there is this thing of
connectivity – do we need
more
or less
connection?
The confidence
to connect
or disconnect,
or reconnect, when connection
is required,
or is connection
the last thing in the world
we want.

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