rain

Rain sews stitches in your vision,

obstructed views. 

Steam flows in ribbons

twisting upward from the lip 

of the scummy kettle,

thick, white, hardened

like barnacles. 

Rain sews stitches in your vision,

holding things together

or tearing it apart,

you can see the join,

missing what’s between. 

The mug warms your hands,

rain beats, beats, beats

against the pane.

Outside great trees stretch

into the morning,

reaching; talons fetching

water, bringing 

it deep into the 

already sodden earth,

mud bubbling.

Rain sews stitches in your vision,

hitting glass and casting

shadows across the dimly lit room,

slowly creeping across 

the cream carpet.