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Linking today to Sunday Whirl Wordle #106

Thin slices of rain, through transparent spectacles,
nothing uncommon, nothing rare, interludes a sun blast; harrowing the backs of farmers bent, Whose marrow capsules,
the genes of forefather's sweat, that sun, given to light days, will either nurture or parch the drought of split gardens. Borrow from the cumulus a hiding place of sojourn. Grubs wriggle through sodden earth, sieving a culture of dreams of becoming. That sun saw the umbrellas, blossoming a pedestrian march; and swore an oath just to shine, to be, to meander, through slivers of raindrops, sketching rainbows in puddles. My guess, your guess, of universal tomorrows etched.


who knows the name of
that bird flitting through ixoras
now yellow now red
-- gillena cox