The rain fell all day

endless strands of gray pearls
and it seemed,
as it often does on a rain filled day,
that the world was tucked in
under the shimmering covers
while an unseen, larger-than-life window
was thrown open
to let the wild rain spirits in. — Annette Marie Smith

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Sunday Things: Talaya

There are many hard hearts, many hearts of stone in this world.
She pulls them up by their mountain roots and carries them,
like a load of heart heavy laundry, to the river.
She uses the soothing properties of water
and in that way she softens the stones.
Her hair is made up of every color in every conceivable
(and inconceivable) spectrum
and as she launders those hard hearts she cries
shining, shimmering, multi-colored pearls of tears.
She polishes the stony hearts to brilliance with her tears
and as she does so her hair (each time she does this)
is drained of all color. It swirls to her feet
like a silver cape and she smiles through her tears.
Her smiles are like kisses that melt in the rain,
fleeting but oh so beautiful.
As she disappears her hair flames
with legion color once more. —  Annette Marie Smith

 

Sunday Things: Morning Rain Storm

My bed, an island of Eden
a silk tent raised
a downy castle.
The storm of the world shaking
all around us
the sky arching like a rusted metal sheet
while the torrential rain rumbles
your name
trembling its syllables into my marrow.
Your arms are a portculis of protection.
Your stones were each floated into place By Merlin himself.
I take it as a compliment when you call me Nimue
say I ride the storm like it is my own broom
accuse me of being your undoing.
But I have come
not to imprison you
in tree, in cave, in arrested state,
my love, I have come
to set you free.
— Sunday Morning Rainstorm, Annette Marie Smith