It's Still Life

Verdict Wind

Blink—
and it’s raining cats and dogs,
clouds inked in bruises
galloping
across a sky.

The crow shrieks —
sparrows vanish mid-flight.

It gives pause.
A flutter.
A missed beat.

I count them on beads —
knotted threads soaked
with intention.

Was it us?
Was it them?
Why does this wind feel like a verdict?

It pulls at the hem of the world,
whispers under doors,
and smells of nettle and rust.

I rub that black pebble in my pocket,
the one worn smooth
by the sea’s old whisper:

“Maybe yes—
maybe no.”

And still, the sky won’t answer,
so we just ride out the storm.

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Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI, and is identified as such in the ALT text or captioned. Images are copyright and not to used without permission, which I willingly give when asked, and when not for commercial use. Imagery and poems/prose ©Misky 2006-2025.