Whatever is Approaching

by Peycho Kanev

Black and hairy clouds.
The pines in the backyard –
strangely still…

The only sound is from us;
you sipping the wine and me
lighting my cigarette.

The eyes are almost shut;
the ashtray is full of memories –
grey and burnt…

…this is a storm in a clam’s shell.
…there is the quietness of the graveyard.

Whatever is approaching!
Whatever is encroaching!

We are still here,
idle and soon to disappear.
Time slips by,
like a fly through the crack of the screen door.

And then suddenly the drapes are waving,
just a little bit, and she says:

“Can you smell the rain…

…and hear the thunder?”


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