Wont you let the wind in

No poetry-

Silence it said.

It was raining and how could we live without

The yellow porch light, that lit the drops aflame midair

sent falling matches while we inhaled its sultry cologne,

It smelled like kerosene.

Nothing should be said,

but sound jumps and throttles anyway,

hits its edges

and snaps.

Let it fly,

was another way to lay claim on wind and smoke rings.

Seasonings and salt made new flowers, steeping in the dark

deeds have been doled to uncharted territories, stay-

what else is there to see?

The words will escape me just

this day without poetry… 

Painting by Paul Cornoyer [Public domain], 'Madison Square after the rain' c. 1900 via Wikimedia Commons.