The sky is a cluster of grey variations
There is an emptiness where the birds would be,
full of song and choreography but now they
are tucked inside nests and trees and buildings
This is the silence that clears a path to the Storm.
Even now I remember those paths, feeling the calm
that goes before the building, sitting in the tall grass
outside the woods outside
a world that carries its own storms.
But I can remember
sometimes I can wrap myself away from the concrete
Storm with its decaying by remembering the
green and grey and silence.