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  • Look out the window to a darkened sky
    concrete dark and wet and not as empty
    as you would believe, people pay the rain
    no heed, go about their day, as if the clouds
    were but a shade between midday and mid-afternoon,
    small birds flock and flutter to the seed cake left
    for them competing with the woodpecker and jays
    while the small gray squirrel scavenges the ground
    looking for the remnants of the winter corn
  • and I, a paradox in shorts and sandals
    and layered thermal hoodie pulled over my head,
    strolling down the weathered concrete of the path
    to free my tiny Kia from its berth and guide
    it from the garage to the blacktop landscape
    of the city streets. The rain falls helter-skelter
    as we drive along, jazz music on the radio, a song
    of long, blue notes reflecting on the chilly day
    as we weave through the lanes and intersections
    of the streets we meet with only emptiness and cold
    gray intemperate skies, and artificial lights
    on steel trees and dwellings standing in the midst of others
    and only trees and grass to remind us of the earth
    that lies beneath this mask of civilized contrivance
    composed of temporary edifice and institutions
    steeped in lost traditions, lost horizons.
  • Returning from my chores, the rain falls harder now,
    it coats the screen outside my office windows
    with revealing drops and streaks
    that blur the images of man made structure
    and reveal the melting nature
    of humanity. Lost in the treasures
    of the temporary, clinging to the sins
    of cyclic history, repeating what has
    already been done and finding none
    of what this earth was meant to be.

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