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Miu Rishu May 2015
I
The rain is pouring down,
There is just one umbrella, and
I choose to share it
With her.
The night is long, and
we don’t talk, but
I can see,
Through the corner of my eyes, that
She is uncomfortable and cold
By the violent brushing of the winds
that come too close but leave without kissing her left cheek.
A red omnibus passes us by,
Without stopping.
I hand her the umbrella,
And leave unarmed
Humming a familiar tune.


II*
The rain is pouring down, and
He comes a step closer, to share
His umbrella with me.
The night is long, and
We don’t talk, but
I can feel his gaze penetrating my skin.
The violent brushing of the winds,
Makes me uncomfortable as
They come too close but leave without kissing my left cheek.
A red omnibus passes us by,
Without stopping.
He hands me the umbrella,
And leaves like the wind.
Humming a familiar tune.
Norman Crane Sep 2021
woodcutter's sunlight
absent like truth at the gate
at raintime; strangers'
memories, flowing as mud
a samurai was killed, but—
Sue Collins Sep 2019
Sometimes adrift is the best option. Uncertainty, a sure thing. Wavering, a symphony of resonance.
Leave the list for a whim. The cracks in the wall signal character; the tilt of the roof, charm.

Play like a child with a brand-new toy. See, smell, touch for the first time. Angle, circles, wood, plastic.
Forego the plot summaries and join the story. The runner runs backwards, the swimmer floats idly.

Swiggle a circle where there once was a box and leave hems undone. Plant your feet on terra non-firma.
Letting go. Swinging every which way. Lose the myopic lens. Black-and-white pales against blooming flowers.

— The End —