A storm is coming. The

rain is starting. The drizzle 

trickles down the window pane, and the

clouded light dims the room. In the gloom,

all alone, I can see clearly, hear plainly,

the rain falling, calling, a pitter-patter

chit-chat that picks at my mind 

all the time, whispering, ‘listen, listen

listen to me’. I can see sheets of

spit unfurling from the sky, sailing down

and down the fathoms of air

from the mothership clouds

above. A remembered dream

comes to me and I recall with

unease the ease of the fall from

the mast of a sailing ship 

down down down

into the unending sea,

deepening and

unbreathing me,

awakening me as a child to the

failing family, the unfathering,

lost and drifting and abandoned, to

the worries of a world that I still

do not understand

as a man.

I am breathless once more at the 

memory restored. 

And the rain falls faster

and the world turns colder

and life grows harder

and harder to know.

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