Grey day,
indistinct edges fade into tendrils
of forgotten thoughts.
The birth caul over baby’s
face, the thud of dirt on crone’s coffin,
everything in between so much
receding matter.
Ancient burial grounds fester beneath
glass and concrete as the living replace
the dead, decade upon decade.
Water drips, minutes absorbed into
earth.
The juju beads hold no sway
here.

****
I don’t know why I write more on gloomy days.