The 7th day

Of rain.

 

How softly the sound rests a mind

Dulled from workday chores

 

A day spent in the service of

Bureaucracy.

 

I glimpsed that other

Life though:

 

Light so eery trees

Blurred into a grainy

 

Electric grey of metallic trunks

Slicing through the landscape

 

Buildings reflecting rain-sun

Shimmering with fright

 

Though I was the one who froze

Momentarily fixated on a view

 

Framed by a pause,

The possibility of escape.

 

All that splotching and splashing.

Icarus, ignoring painterly advice

 

Jumped out of the picture

Into the incoming storm

 

Almost unseen. Maybe

I saw him dart off . . .

 

The 7th day of rain

Saw myth at work.

 

Copyrighted by the author

 

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