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written by: Dah



A storm of unknown gray
of slippery rain
sliding sideways
in this wintry script

The puddles are reflections
of sorrow
or something more
like punishments

A woman slogs through
the flood
almost stumbling
There’s something animal-heavy

about her presence, about
her suffering
as if she is trying
to escape

The middle of the day
the trees rattle, a stark
eerie noise,
the light has passed on

In her red raincoat,
knee-high boots,
the sight of the woman
sloshing through the puddles

is as if she’s possessed.
The rain thickens,
turning solid, and the woman’s antics
make her look like she’s drowning



DAH is a Pushcart Prize and Best Of The Net nominee, and the lead editor of the poetry critique group, The Lounge, and the author of nine books of poetry. He lives in Berkeley, California, where, for the past fifteen years, he has taught yoga: meditation, stretching, and deep relaxation, to children in public and private schools. DAH is currently working on the manuscript for his tenth poetry collection.

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