Dark clouds gather + block a stifling sun, breaking the heat
of oppressive summer days – we’re in a daze, at a standstill,
shops closed + mask-wearing maniacs stashing cash
under dirty mattresses in case of economic collapse –
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In the Woods (a poem)
It’s been so long since I’ve
walked in these woods,
surrounded by trees
on a humid summer night.
It’s dusk and tree cover provides
shade on the trails, but we still
huff, puff with each mile.
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Thunderous Rasp of Breath (a poem)
Dark Night, cold Breeze
From the circling fan above.
There is no sound,
Yet that of thunderstorms.
Pressure on my feet
And slight movement all around.
However life seems still,
When the thunderous rasp of breath
Is not to my right.
Sheep and stars do not help,
The darkness only reminds me I am alone.
(Photo by Ryan Phillips on Unsplash)
