The Rain in Rain

Rain lashes your new window.
This fungal spring sprouts
many mushrooms of memory,
your only available landscape.
Ghosts and visions abound;
land of the dead living.
You wander through the murk
like lost Odysseus seeking
Elpenor and Tiresias.

A man of no fortune
with a name to come,
a blind, windy prophet.
Shades of voyages past.
Lost in the mist of mind.
A morning of might-have-beens.
A portal of perforation
leading to lost tea leaves
and dripping roses.
Places you could have been, if
you hadn’t followed fake orders;
if you weren’t here now.
Tears, hopeless adoration,
missed chances, passions.
All contained in this dismal day.

Rain, rain, go away.


Mike Essig

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