. . . passing time.
Time is passing
like the slow clouds
that will bring in rains
on a hot sunny day.
The thunder rolls
as if the meeting of the
passing hot and cold
can only be stormy.
There are so many passings.
The comings and goings
are as tumultuous
as the rumblings in my head
telling me it is time.
It is time to pass.
It is time to leave.
It is time to click the clouds shut
in heaven
as the hounds
hover in bliss.
. . . nehwe sebyonokh. . .