Sleet
Rain on its way to becoming
snow. Water in the process
of becoming weaponry.
Droplets flung like darts.
The sting of the in-between.
Transitional types of weather
bewilder and entrance:
pearls of hail loosed upon
the green lawn; the frost
sprung up on leaves
of its own accord, an
internal snow released;
and this, the sleet,
diagonal and digging silver
claws, a volley of arrows.
We are in the middle of a sleet storm this morning. Your poem strikes a real chord---that ambivalent "in-between" haunts me often. The sleet is indeed a volley of arrows.
ReplyDeleteYou're hitting this theme a lot lately, that ambivalence--it sings true each time. Beautiful writer, you.
love,
Kirie
"Water in the process of becoming weaponry." I love these lines, yet, I feel excitement, rather than fear, the way you engage me!
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