Haibun: The Rain Comes

I try to see the ghost of yesterday. She doesn’t come. Not for me, anyway.

The window gives me a watercolour view of the garden, and yet the colours are missing, stolen. The trees are shadows in the grey. They stand stark and bare, unmoving. From somewhere water drips.

I turn back to my coffee. The steam warms my face.

 

losing you –
nothing glittters
anymore