Monday, 10 July 2006
At the edge of the sky rosy-fingered
Dawn slips under the blanket of cloud
And the prickling of slight rain reminds me of the flood.
A new day begins still clinging to the feeling of an old day
With the dregs of illness leaving me
Weaker or stronger,
From where came the torrent
And how it has changed me.
I can see that the stream has altered its course
In the inexorable process of becoming the river.
The waters have carved new banks
What did they leave behind upstream?
I am left with less ground to stand on
And must learn to float
Cleverly upon the receded waters
Which leave the river
Washed clean and gasping with thirst when they're gone.
~ posted by Anna @ 9:55 PM