This cloud hangs heavy for all,
but I feel the weight, damp and clammy,
the hand wrapped across my mouth, muffling the cry.
Who hears in this cold sea,
where drowning trees wave their arms,
shaking birds into the sky waters?
I listen but nobody comes
to ask the way or leave a note.
Crows make their show on the wires.
Day dims as it grows into midday,
through the falling rain into evening, the swollen time
when the sun should burn the clouds bonfire red
and the world give up
its ghosts to fly owl-winged
through the rustling dark.