words sliced open
spilling sticky syllables.

The rhythmic drip, drip,
dripping of rain from the eaves
blends with constant soft, sweet whispers
of countless drops kissing the leaves.

Rain is looming
Let's walk on the edge
Of dry and wet
Ambulate the flumes.

Though you've been gone for years and the tears have long since dried still your scent adheres to the walls (still empty on your bedside)

Atop strange barricades
waving stranger flags.
We may bemoan the happenings
but are resolved to let them be.

We all have our secret places we carry with us all our lives. But time makes them so mythic we sometimes wonder whether they existed at all.

I stirred the fallen leaves
in a walk of dream.
There was no destination.
But each footfall woke a thought in hibernation.