Without raindrops, clouds without tears

Grey Sky Morning

By David Woods

Above, beating down, the deluge

Without raindrops, clouds without tears

A sense of falling, distinctive

Rhythm sounds on skin pulled tight like

Animal skin over a drum 

–

Below, a road, quiet, running

Grey down a slope, stagnant and stale

The smell, of grey, that gets to me 

Sticks in my throat, chokes tears, I mean

Real tears. Does the sky shed them.

–

This all happens inside a house

With too many rooms, a spiral

Staircase going down, down, down low

To no basement so it keeps on

Going down below the carpets

–

The floor is grey beneath the sky

The sky is the ceiling that cracks

That lets the rain in, the torrent

You can’t see but will get you wet

This drench sets in for the long haul

David Woods

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