Thursday, May 03, 2007

As Yet Untitled

it rained
soft bubbly drops in muddy puddles
scents of summer nights
brought memories of once when

into the misty breeze
i spoke your name
but the drops applauding spring
fell too loud to hear your voice

grey clouds hid away
the dreamy blue jean dusk
i knew your voice was lost
inside the eerie ink of night

i don't listen for it anymore
but rather gather rain
in antique wooden buckets
to gaze at my own reflection in silence


-Ryn, May 2007