The blood leaks on this side of the page today
Slicing through ideas like the wind through soft silk.
Not gentle or meek or by any means mild.
It has a nature kin to fire
Cruel and wild.

The clouds lay heavy with their burden of gray
All day across well into May.

Music bubbles up
In scents of rose, myrrh,
And honeysuckle rain, skipping across the lane,
billowing to a slow flop.

The wind blows the change in
This time, I think it is my friend.

And when the rain came it was finished.
The thunder made it
More than anyone could bear.