I'm told when I close my eyes,
I should know what I want-
when I make a wish,
but all I hear,
is the white falling noise,
of summer rain,
pouring outside the kitchen window,
the cautious heavy breathing,
of my lungs on automatic,
filling up with air,
the heart panting,
running,
between the raindrops,
to stay dry,
the mind,
whistling the wind,
in the tall spruce hollows,
of another,
winter.
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