It’s raining again.
The picnic bench
Is missing a board.
Evidence of its hard life.
The neighbors have
captured their dogs.
When I step outside
The street is quiet.
Nights are cool.
Sleep comes easily
But I avoid it.
There are times I hope
I won’t wake up.
Winter is coming.
The promise of darkness.
Ceaseless clouds
Putting to bed
A weary sun. I let the rain
Wash my face.
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