the sky is blackened, clouds have greyed. my annual isolation has given up on me
and I am left uncertain and unaware of myself. my fingers did not falter,
my body did not shake. my eyes were no storm, my lips were no hurricane. dead silence. the silence of my own cry was sheltered around me and all that I knew.
and I fall out of myself
although I have left dew on the grass, I was kissed with my own salt as the rain of a calm rain fell.
and my storm was the storm that would come back again and again for years to come even for reasons I do not know why.
but a tensity that was cut up and diminished into a mist of breathable air, was a tragedy I was ready to fulfill.
for the upholster of the clouds about to collapse with my own sorrows is no match for the strong war brewing inside me
