No hearts, no crosses
no gifts, no glyphs,
no trips, no roses,
nothing to spend
except a turn of staunchest shoulder,
and this leftover rain.
I have for you in liningskins
a flicker of red, and green
and in the pureed perfumepot
a curl of smell rising;
the deep caverns of words are still
speckled with fat ladybirds
come pick them up, feel them breathe
brush the leaves and feel them move
ever so slightly, ever so slight
loosen the hammock of strings of silkholding this leftover rain.
It's been raining non-stop in Bahrain, the impromptu football field next to my home is flooded, the roads have been waterlogged, never seen anything like this here - pouring in the desert. Enjoyed the incessantly glisteny roads and surroundings, everything this last week came with the patina of reflections - glorious! What an amazing gift of the mundane to celebrate!
I am off most of this week - the old breathing apparatus needs some fixing - so I'm flat out and blogless, no phones, no gizmos in the hospital. But can take pen and paper in, always my loyalest and bestest of allies. I'll catch up with you as soon as I get back. Meanwhile, stay well and have the loveliest of weeks!