rain song

The worst of it’s the leaf blower, and that by a hefty margin. This is me here, so there’re always issues. The lawn care subset being a particular rubber towards my wrong, with the whine of an air compressor idling tailing like a comet on down. Then the copper chopper doing some backyard patrol whups on past, trailing a perspective setting roar. None of it does me much good, my many barely masked agitations clearly on display. All the stressors set and ready to go, another Sunday running down.

So I swallow the burn and the bitter. So I say my peace to the directions on hand. The smoke and incense flying to the tune of the wind. Lana Del Rey takes the speakers and has her say. Listing all she missed. The clouds part and I sing along.

You hold the course you focus your attention the sparrows gather and burble away. Somehow we missed the signal. Something distant voices say, just outside of earshot, as the clouds sweep on by. You say the words as you meet them, you hold the blazing and the glow, singing so deep no one would know. This slow shore of the wear away world. The singing so the rain might stay.