simply breathing
like the white washed hills
of notorious syllables
spilling, crying like crows
over the gushing riversides
and the spatter of rain,
the soft trickle of fog
scouring the trees under
a blanket of white wash walls,
prancing concrete roads
paved black like mirrors
down into the yonder
and the bristling chirps,
the crying youngsters
of spring awakening,
she greets with that
of a thundering storm