Apocalyptic poems, posted every m-f.

the big gray days

they come months at a time
the sky, a gray –
mountains in spectrum of steel blue, trees their sick angle of lavender-green
half in silhouette

we take these colours in like prayers
go inside our own bodies,
focus on the tiny streams and rivulets circulating ourselves within ourselves
find peace:
in a world rent asunder
in a bad fix,
we still have the cold and the shelter
the damp and the fire

this.

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