A drop of rain-water
Looks like a ball, waiting
To crash, spread out, interrupt
The tensions of its surface.
As the sun slings low
Cutting a slice of cloud-covered
Gloom in half. Sea-gulls
Flock together, orange on grey
And crying. Who has forgotten
The names we all grew into,
Empty, meaningless notions,
Chunks of mist, passing
Like cat-shredded curtains
Or a song from a broken radio.
Far below, there is a splash.
When did that core
That once shot branches, shed bark,
When did that core grow hollow,
Empty with rot? Who were the ants
Building small insignificant networks,
Making the hard porous, fragile,
Crunching down if one moves too fast?
Rainwater bombards the cracks,
Seeps in
And is silent.

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