Today the sun is a wish hidden by clouds.
Trees shake like sawgrass in the wind.
Rain is a fine net over the rooftops.
The whole of our lives we are weather.
This way of living, of always being next to things,
always on the way to the next big storm,
can leave us breathless, and when it goes,
it goes like mist or powder.

So much is hidden in our sandstorm of desires.
But what else can we do?
So we fill up silence with the sparkling cut glass of our desires,
try to make it effable,
fill the spaces between seconds and breaths.

But the uncomfortable silence we work so hard
to obliterate takes us over in the end,
if not, one can only hope this feeling,
of always waiting for the next thing, isn’t eternal.