Ghost Rain
mountain above, fire below —> fire above, water below
The morning lends grace to these old toes— as my feet touch the floor and ghost rain shuffles across the roof. Like a white wingèd horse, the day spreads out its feathered hopes— as the clouds begin to clear.
What a beautiful, graceful poem depicting a very human scene that somehow totally transcends itself. These recent six-liners lend themselves particularly well to your skill-set, Jonathan!
Absolutely adored the imagery in this one - amazing work.