Sunday, October 28, 2012


It closes us in,
enwraps home, not unlike fog,
this tapping on window-sills,
this sloshing, showering, gurgling,
this curtain of busy needles.
We are maybe closer to each other
separated by it, under lamplight,
under the computer light,
casting reflections into the ether.
We were around a fire once
under a rock, telling tales
and casting spells.
The tapping filled the mouth of the cave.
I am not sure of what has changed.


Crafty Green Poet said...

I really like this, you capture the atmosphere of rain so well and the ending is excellent

Dave King said...

Superb. You could not add to or subtract from this poem without reducing it. It sums up so much - fact and feeling - in a few words. It sums up a huge slice of modern society, in fact.