Days of Rain…… (or: Dought part 2)

In other years,

Those times, now hastily sealed in envelopes,

Memories of those days of rain:

An incessant November after a scorched Halloween,

Or cold February rain, broken by snow,

Gusting loud and clear that afternoon,

In another damp celebration,

To the beat of scowling wind and staccato raindrops.

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Winter’s pulse traced across every window.

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Then, rivers of emerald velvet,

Concealing cobbled dreams,

The electricity of fish,

And the hard lines of trees

Against soft winter skies.

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We dreamed of things outside us.

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Now, we wake in the crisp, tingling night

Like the sound of a pin snapping,

Where it lingers on the cold edge of dawn

And stretches under the long fetch of winter sun.

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Summer’s long pause distilled and bare.

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These days trudge on,

Held fast under shadowy chill

Where summer escaped,

As we wonder if it ever left.

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We will remember this time.