Half hidden
under his motheaten blanket
the moon
pockmarked and sullen
distilled the night
over and over again.
All around,
a brooding silence.

Only his still growled
like distant thunder.
And from  time to time
his fire crackled.
All else was still.

Then
slowly
little droplets
started falling
clear as drops of tear
And i raised my head skyward
and pushed my tongue out

Heavy and heady drops.
The ***** stung,
tasting vaguely
of suppressed sobs
of unrequited love
juvenile fantasies
****** dreams.
And a hint of birdsong.

I guess the rogue
had wrung the neck of
my songbird
and tossed him into the still too.
Because now
only a lone insane rooster
crows repeatedly
as darkness fades.