How might I count the days?
.
By the sounds of rain
On a field at night?
.
Or should I tally mornings
Of fickle, teasing light,
On the edges of storms?
.
Could it be the screeching egret,
High overhead in dark skies,
Framing chilling air into promises
Of frosty tinkerings.
.
How might I add these days?
Where a single leaf,
Bright star fluttering,
Shuffles to rest,
To dream in the soft cradle of spring.
Shaken Rain 