By Jay St John Knight.
The sky above weeps.
Bloated rain drops
Languidly roll down glass sheets,
Like crystalline beetles
Scurrying and
Hurrying.
–
Outside, people ebb
And flow like shoals of fish.
Scintillating streams
Pouring down streets
With a canvassed sheen;
Spilling out into town and country.
A deluge.
–
Their waves crash down with a sound
Like towers of fragile flutes
Toppling to the ground,
Countless grey faces reflecting
In the foam of all the all-consuming,
Unrelenting.
–
Yet somewhere, beyond sight,
Brilliant white birds soar:
A gliding reverie
In a clear swept azure.
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