it’s not raining,
the clouds are just dancing,
attempting to shake out the remaining mist
from yesterday’s downpour.
the watery streets are laced with
bright redandorangeandyellow,
gleaming against the glittering, gray ground.
the sun rests behind the clouds but the streetlamps
shine on, making reflections on the soggy cement.

it’s not windy,
the chill is just smoothly spinning
along the cold and barren ground,
riding on the sky’s every exhale.
and all the trees and the grass and the clouds
are hanging on God’s every breath,
moving, twirling, falling with every
tiny movement.

and we are not hoping (too much),
not asking too much, just dancing,
emptying ourselves of yesterday’s rainstorm,
spinning on the gleaminglybarren ground,
desperately hanging on to each inhale/exhale,
all while forgetting that we’re ever so beautifully
trapped in the neverending ebb and flow.

11/04/2011

Author's Note: update from a much older poem.

Posted on 11/05/2011
Copyright © 2024 Lindsay Sanders