Clay Pigeon

The forests are held cheap after the white pine has been culled out; and the explorers and hunters pray for rain only to clear the atmosphere of smoke. - Thoreau

a sly vandal out of sight

it rained again last night

wind-blown drops smashing against my window pain

shattering glass along with thoughts of heaven and hell alike

obliterating sins; exposing and washing dirt

lucky i wasn't hurt,

as the storm obliged me to convert

tempting me to revert

a proliferation of tears

oblivious to days, weeks, months; even years

it would have been a great time to fly a kite,

but i couldn't find mine

couldn't turn water into wine

couldn't walk on puddles of water

double-daring me to feel, as i spun upon the wheel

after all, I'm just clay and someone else is the potter

despite the occasional wobble or constant squeal