My window frames a painting
of gray rain clouds
ashes
of bodies of water
restless souls moving swiftly
as I stare…
drops of them falling…
slowly… deliberately
returning to the earth
water the heavy clouds could contain no more—
flowing,
running-off
back to the bigger bodies
lakes, rivers, oceans, seas
then the sun would shine
and the bodies would lose
pieces of themselves
again, vanished
but never truly gone.
‘Tis a cycle.
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