If rain.

Delightful it is!; To sit beside a window cracked,
And letting in air as cool as is held in the crypt!
Rain does thud at my glass today,
And grey has coloured the dull blue that was.
Autumn feels closer than the month would suggest,
And a book of age lies at my chest.

To sit is absolute, and to listen to nothing but!
I have the calm and the serene today,
Of a lady who, once, knew precisely what she wanted,
Of a cat who hauled in the birds beside the mice!

I question my dreams today, I ask them why they haunt me so?
I may have taken a restful gaze toward a window dotted,
But the lingering images behind these eyes are of creatures, unsettling.
Yes, just last night I gave in to sleep,
And slept for as long as I might ever,
Until. And then dream did come. Did taunt!
It lay out fears my mind had only just come across,
And oh how well it did!

If my mind would write, quite the story you would read.
It put poison in my drink! It led him by another! It threatened at solitude of an outing,
It may as well have put fire in my sky!
I am distrustful of my mind in sleep!
Here, here I lay in a comfort I have made,
And it laughs, it gives a foul hissing laugh, as I fall empty into unconsciousness.

The sweet rain pounds harder now, it sweetens the horizon,
And my mind is withdrawing the memory,
I pry so that I may word the fears and paint the creature;
Yet it pulls back as slowly and effortlessly as the tide receeding.
My mind but sand, my fingers protruding with difficulty, clutching as if suffocating.
Only to dream again.

~

Murk has my mind been,
And just of late has it swum back with the tide.
I am aware, if at all, that such as the shadow through a window,
Of rain upon a familiar portrait, in a dark and deep, elaborate room,
Forgotten and anachronistic,
Love does begin to patter at perfection.