The water falls
Off the roof of the sky
Off the tin roof
It drips
.
It is tired
Of the rust
It created
That red-brown that
No longer follows
The heart of the water
.
So it falls
Down onto
The concrete
Into the blackberry furls
.
It falls
In circles
Of darker grey
That grows
Into a stain
Marking the
Migration
Of the marsh
Moving
In hope of a clean sky
Somewhere
