Another chance of rain

 Clouded. I want to remove the fog. Nevermind memory, long gone.

Right ahead of me, a soft curve fading to dust.

Tree line reinvented as horizon cuts the top fork, clean.

Telephone wires a staff for notes, or letters.

I move closer – to the day? the fog? To my questions?

To the window. I see the rain pooling on spiria leaves.

The weight is exhausting, like a pack I’ve picked up thinking it was mine only to find its that of a much more equipped being.

Over bearing. I feel the child is clouding mother. I mean there is false choice getting in the way of true selection.

<Ahhhhhhghhhhggggh. A low groan indicates I am in the midst, in medias res. This is deep, murky shit and I don’t know if I am more worried at how long it will take to wash off or if I’ll leave part of me lost in it as I struggle to claw my way out.>