Ripped Open

The discordant notes like the draw
of string and bow
a concert of
wind through trees.

Clanging timpani and banging
kettle drum bass
a wild storm
this morning.

Morning? This predawn symphonic
to chords of light
jagged sky.

As if heaven was pouring forth
heavy. As if
a waterfall
or river.

Socks, fleece, a cup of hot coffee
dogs being dogs
with wet tongues
sloppy dawn.

A pause, a quiet moment, the
sun rise behind
heavy clouds
rain. Or tears?

More rain than I have seen in two,
maybe more, years.
Three AM

Lulling me awake. Reminding
me, life, shattered
ripped open
sky. Or soul?


Katherine E. said…

Holding you in my heart during this liminal time...
Michelle said…
Jan said…
Lovely. Eloquent.

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