The Sound of Rain

Ink slurps up a fountain pen

like water gushing down gutters

a dash to inscribe drops on ground.

 

A new born miner’s persistent speak

to an unknown beat which answers

back, a chorus of exuberant echoes.

 

This is the forgotten sound of tincan

incantations, of skate across slippery

slate, of harmonic rhythm’s return

 

Copyrighted by the author

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