The Cacographer

Bellingham, 5pm (Draft #2)

There is nothing poetic about tonight,
nothing in the wind scouring the gutters
or the rain pocking and condensing on the window.

There is nothing poetic about the heavy rolls of the sea,
nothing about the frosted white floating and dissolving on turbulent crests
nothing in the sky matching the sea,
nothing in the pine lipped hills that hold and cradle the wet and dimming harbor.

There is nothing poetic about the toasted rye or the deli mustard
nothing poetic about the darjeeling tea
or the recently emptied lemons,
nothing poetic about the seagulls bickering
or the ravens gliding between spruce and pine,
and there's nothing poetic about missing you.

posted by OrangeDrink @ 1:51:00 AM