1015

Argh!.....


It is 1015
in my study, rain
fill and filled of rain.
on the moldy roof, seasoned trees, slow drain
seeping through gentle thunders
dripping down, against walls of unseen sky
reflecting the leafs that break each drip
feeling fall in each voice
moving, and still..

it blew, so nice and coldly
caressing rest and comfort in soundless study
sad violin and low cellos of thought
lulls in warm yellowy glows
shining, dulling light
singing midsummer's drizzle lullaby
to a sweet fluttering curtain
in a besotted night sky

Was it the curtain
or eyes that flutter
to a dream so far to conceive
trodden European steps
or stargazing drum beats
aspirations without sweat
and now the rain is stagnating

..

It is no longer 1015.

It, is.