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Walking along with a head too full of nothing,
out into a day that is too much of everything.
A day made for getting lost,
but for the thunder that hovers in the air.
Cloud cover is a blanket of dove wings,
lightning on the horizon a sign of things to come.
The rainfall drives me to shelter under the bridge.
Water runs in rivulets, a stream of consciousness,
finding its way to the river and home to the sea,
back where it belongs.
The weather moves on,
the air dries and light puddles in the street.
It is time to get lost.
I jump into a stream of consciousness to follow where it leads.
The only promise of a day is that it will unfold and,
like the shape of water - rain, rivulet, stream, river, sea,
fill the space it makes in our lives.
Poetry on the run 