Tag: poem

where the monsoon will never find my soul under a stone in the zen garden

whisper the storm’s name and watch her calm

every wind rain and monsoon has a name

rid the body of summer a walk in the rain

night rots in the concrete

this frail body a library of seasons

tripping on sparrow talk

red blue blinkers stranded in night’s rain

nightfall not a dream storm grows

to bed with a head full of fires