Rain isn't pure
as it rolls over us
and rinses away
less than it leaves.
Enchanting scents little
more than reminders
of yesterday, somewhere
other than here, now.
Seascapes we strolled
barefoot and pregnant
with ideals, rivers
we cast line upon line in
suddenly drizzle on our
graying bare heads or
running off umbrellas
amongst the oblivious.
as it rolls over us
and rinses away
less than it leaves.
Enchanting scents little
more than reminders
of yesterday, somewhere
other than here, now.
Seascapes we strolled
barefoot and pregnant
with ideals, rivers
we cast line upon line in
suddenly drizzle on our
graying bare heads or
running off umbrellas
amongst the oblivious.
