Maybe not a bed of roses,
surely more than blade of grass!
Longing for special-
special to someone,
special in something,
special a purpose…
In foaming to grasp
illusive that spot,
phases of moon
pass me by,
birdsong fades in
noise of waves…
Magic is lost, of
common a life
-unsung as
that twig unseen,
in breaking of which
flowers fall…
TAKING THE RAIN
January 7, 2026
TAKING THE RAIN Dazzling in the dim rain a pariah kite perched as usual on a tall telephone tower, hoists its grey wings like sails
