ElNido

I found no water dripping from my hairtips
As I had that face-to-face look to my fave jeans.
Lost as when I did the transferring of feet,
I thought that departure was quite a break of heart.

The open window has sent me a bright invitation,
Sun's glaring but I never saw her fine reflection.
I felt the Air strolls through my skin
The taste of the floral serum enveloped by the sachet.

I had poured myself with the aquifer's liquor,
The remembrance of the search was over my psyche.
I could still feel the pain that excites my upper muscles
As I tried pushing and pulling to break the ground level.

Cuddling the old reversible jeans, he says I'm Free to Go,
I crowned my soul with an inner bliss and whispered to the Air.
My eyes were shut for a moment, but I was an alliance with them -
Of them whose not emptied yet * revitalizes my potential.

One boasts that *the Light was completed,
The other has kept me envy his softening skills.
I never thought that there's still hope for dull flying-tips
But they simply say, "It's not the end of bad hair days."

Time is the the most subtle
Illusion on the face of reality
Because sometimes, and we all get this,
Time speeds up for us or slows down

It is all too easy to blame yourself
It is even easier to blame someone else
It is harder to accept the truth, even when the truth is,
You messed up

Sometimes it rains a bit
And you aren’t prepared
But it can be rather pretty
So, don’t be so scared.
It cools the temperature
From the clouds above,
Makes a walk the kind
The kind you grow to love.

You won’t need an umbrella;
So what if it’s a smattering?
Nothing wrong with that,
A bit of misty spattering?
Just a bit of a shower
Nothing bad in that.
Be a very happy person,
Under the brim of a hat

A bit of a puddle at times
Depending on your shoes.
It is not a big tragedy
No reason for the blues.
It’s just you and nature
Enjoying the day together.
Mother Nature and child
Spending time with each other.

So go ahead and wander
Out in the misting rain.
Take a cleansing saunter
Let weather clear the brain.
Celebrate just being here
A world gone squeaky clean
Like a painting by Monet
In an artist’s magazine.

I love your
                   pitter
                             patter
                                        paws
On the tarred stroke of steamrollers
Wet, green-eyed, wet
The trees sigh in the shower.

I feel your floating
Your mock of pulls to nuisance
When you fly downwards
To your clouds, your puddles in the sky

What are we, I feel we
A kind of hope in others
And perhaps I said it once before,
But I'm here, here to sing with your pitter-pat

And you tell yourself you'll change.
And you don't.
And you push your hand through the water,
turn upside down, watch the sun ripple.
And you stand in the shower-
No, you sit in the shower,
and you breath through the water,
and you imagine what it might be like to drown.
And it feels like air is hugging your lungs for the first time,
curl upside down, pretend the water is rain.
And you're walking home, because you have a home,
and it's raining.
And you didn't think to grab an umbrella.
And you don't care.

When your hands are cold, always trust in a hot water faucet.

Clouds are made of water.
It makes sense to feel like you're floating on air.

A drop fell on the apple tree,
Another on the roof;
A half a dozen kissed the eaves,
And made the gables laugh.

A few went out to help the brook,
That went to help the sea.
Myself conjectured, Were they pearls,
What necklaces could be!

The dust replaced in hoisted roads,
The birds jocoser sung;
The sunshine threw his hat away,
The orchards spangles hung.

The breezes brought dejected lutes,
And bathed them in the glee;
The East put out a single flag,
And signed the fete away.

Emily Dickinson. 3/22/2016.