It's Still Life

Shun Enu Prayers

I’m praying. It’s a nightly ritual. Like brushing my teeth, washing my face, pulling off my socks (right foot first). And it’s rained all day. A steady mist, it soaks into everything. Makes the air heavy. Makes my head heavy, too, my thoughts condense. There’s solitude in rain for good reason. And I pray for those who’ve died. For those dying. For those helpless and lost. Lost like salt in water – still there, the salt, but all you see is water. Bleak water from driven mist. It’s in solidarity with grey, in sympathy with drench and drowning. And I pray that those I love are happy and safe. Safe from the thick sky that fills echoes with soaking dark. And my prayers fall into a rhythm, dripping, dripping, and the earth becomes its flooded bowl.

my pen bleeds with rain
no words should ever drown but
I can drink no more

dVerse Haibun Monday “Rain” – shun enu is “Spring Misty Rain” (I think….)