The mud creeps along the skins of thing, the gray rain and the spent dusk rattling around the eaves. The storm scratches at each little itch, it paints every surface with that unsettling suggestion that things are never the same. Bones ache and beauty burns, to nearly everything a season. Doors open and shut, unwanted gifts at a party with no surprises. The sun goes down and the lights go on. The sickness and the sadness settle down for the night.
The fires burn out and all the angels sink to some unknown depths, flight only an option while the wishes are fresh and granted. Time tools around the slick and rivered roads, splashing the sidewalks as the gutters flood. Soon all the wishes have come and gone, prayers of theft and swagger passed into the litany of things to regret. The hours all soak through the grieved for meanings and the words that just slipped out. Mentirosa slinks out of the speakers, crawling up through all these years and notions. Mood music always arriving with the wrong mood in mind.
Would that it was as simple as going to sleep. Would that it were a switch flipped, a flame extinguished. The gear-work just grinds and grinds, rusted and broken and clashing with disrepair. Bad blood and blown kisses, the tide keeps rising. Be still says that little steady voice. Everything passes. Stay put goes the chorus. Everything loved stays lost. The song changes, never mind the mood. A soft voice, like a dreamt for lover. A clear voice, strong and tender and on the right side of every fight. The song plays itself out, fading into the closed in corners and the empty shelves. Then the song is gone, and the only sound is rain.