The window panes
Are covered in water droplets
The fine mist has turned to rain
Smoke, from next doors chimney
Hangs in the air before dispersing
The window panes
They are my notebook
Raindrops are my tea-leaves
A spiritual one will arrive soon
To make a sense of my sense
The mist and smoke
Are my pencil and paper
Intertwined and misaligned
They tear at each other’s
Very being
That both have disappeared
Leaves me endless
some might say pointless
Tomorrow, so I understand
Things are forecast to change
