interpreting signals

the clouds are grey
massing above us
filling the horizon
away to the west

untranslated semaphore
is sending messages
of what the heavens have in store

if only I
could understand them
the signals flying all around me
in the telegraph line
that is the air

but I am blind
I cannot see them
I am deaf
I cannot hear
I cannot read the portent
of what the storm-front has said

I wait here
with those few senses
that I own
open to the sky
waiting for the weather to show
with a kiss on my skin
from the wind
with a wet touch
fallen from a droplet
of rain

I am waiting

the clouds
away in the west
are grey

© Frank Prem, 2016

Poem #31: I on solid ground


4 thoughts on “interpreting signals

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