Wednesday, September 21, 2016


Rain, a hundred thousand pinpricks,
Seeps in tent and heart and skin.
I've walked a hundred thousand steps,
A thousand more just to begin.

Night prowls inches from my pillow,
Live and weirding, thick with thought;
Pain in limb and joint and muscle
Croons a lesson I've forgot.

Wind with cloud and tide is singing,
Witless of me, or innocent;
Grace, like a strange contentment,
Seeps in skin and heart and tent.

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