Wells of the Street

Standing under the cloth umbrella

Rain critters hopping

Around me

I look down

Into the rivers

Made by light

Seeing the wells

Of light reaching below the street

To infinity


Above it all

The wooden homes

Darkened by


A sun of dark grey mist

Is all


In some

The little lights

They beckon warmth


A place

To rest my head

And go back

To that dry warm sleep


But the rain

Is padding


My umbrella


A chiming clock

With dark trees


In a shining mirror


I sink

Back into my well

Never to have my world

Seen again


The next rain

Where heralded

By the rain critters

Rising through

A clear pool of water

Into the usually


Mirror less walls

Of ours

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