her roof was leaking.
so there were pots
and pans scattered
about catching rain
drops as they slowly
made their way
through the shingles,
the wood, the drywall.
it was a symphony
of pings and drips
as she sat there
in her red boots
with a glass of wine
staring out the grey
seamless window
of river and sky.
the rain would stop.
the wine would run
out and things would
dry. these things
she could count on.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment