Small moments, always small moments.
The woman who stands barefoot in the rain
And feels the winter chill before the fall
The grandfather alone in his hospital room
Whose sole thought is the itchiness of the sheets
Even the confidant young man who rides his bike,
Thinking how badly his hair is a mess as he rounds a swift curve-
Life happens in small moments, even as it comes to an end.
YOU ARE READING
Storm Prophecies
PoetryRain falls in crosshatch across the lamp lit sky, splattering the asphalt ground with splashes of reflected light. I look at the sketchbook in my hand and trace the penciled rain and smudged glow. It was shit. I let to book fly onto the muddy grass...
