At my desk with the window opened.

A gurgling brook is falling from the sky,

Prattling on the roof.

Mind flicking like the tail of a vexed squirrel.

There had been two feet of snow last winter,

The roof rake broke and I had to bear the weight alone.

Memories chittering and scampering.

A rent in the white satin fabric of winter,

Heart, a divot of exposed soil.

Green moss pressing its cheek against the ice glass

Clouds assist the night in swallowing day

Feverish and damp,

my tears

© M. G. Iannucci 2016

Photo: Poke weed flower in the rain

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