The 7th day

Of rain.


How softly the sound rests a mind

Dulled from workday chores


A day spent in the service of



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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