It is noise and voice and smell
touch and feel and tell
me that I am not alone with the world
outside the window
in the winds playing with the clouds
inside this room
full of rain that is not falling
where the actual darkness sits
it fails to take over
the game of leaving and arriving
always the same and yet
ever new to the odour of the place
the love
in your face
sorrowful without the warmth of touch
inspired by the excitement of all senses
and blind for the distance
between faraway homes
where we seed and let grow
mountains of snow
hills of hay
eager not to forget to water
breed seed needs
waiting below
a suface of moist soil
we hesitate
to pour all at once
saving the scents
and pause.
