Inside Phoenix, & Me

Rain. A winter-Williamsburg sky, like raw pewter being hammered, and with scraps of lint from the artisan's polishing cloth scattered thru. Misty, like my thoughts. And strange, alien shapes, pods of unopened growth, scratching the horizon, obscuring the view, but there. There. Coming along slowly. Maybe the rain, watering them, will finally open them, revealing me to me.