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