drips from the pores of the sky and
shines light upon green gardens and barred
fences. The grey tint shows indifference on faces and in
our souls, reflecting a porcelain doll.
Goosebumps come and go looking for a home, something worth their while when
the wind wanders by, and whispers secrets
meant for the Sun.
The people reach at a dismal and indefinite sky with its stars
shedding wisdom to those seeking answers, delivering it on
a silver, somnolent platter. Their fingers outstretch, not knowing what comes next,
and cascade into a line waiting to feel