A contemporary poem about two weather systems, using a concrete image system, a pressured turn and a restrained open ending.
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Your side of the room smelled of rain. Mine held the metal taste before a storm. We spoke through the doorway, carefully, as if words could trigger lightning. When you came closer, the pressure changed. For one breath, the sky above us belonged to neither forecast.
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Quiet is not absence but a measurable presence that changes according to distance, attention and care.
A distant figure remains self-contained, carrying an atmosphere the observer cannot own or interpret.
A contemporary poem about after the colour breaks, using a concrete image system, a pressured turn and a restrained open ending.
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