This website created and maintained by Cayuse Press. All Rights Reserved. The Rain Watch Rain-watching makes a tired old poem, yet I squat and ponder here, glued to pulse of cleansing blood.
Striped skunks come out from confines of a forests corset, seeking the road, sniffing the dark.
It's a quiet owl, this poignancy. Hooting at obligations ogres. Making ground lick dirt on feet. I say I like a sunny day much better than a stormy one, but liquid serenades of self are mixed and streaming from these clouds.