Gloomy, rain-heavy clouds 
Are attractive; 
Particularly 
In meloncolic moods
Where old constellations
Of memories and people
Loom like foggy ghosts. 

And then wind 
Draws over the hills
Quickly, quietly. 

It is damp
And the fever 
Of dawn is null.

Sharp breath in,
And the mist peirces
A blood-red veil
Of flesh and cave;
Then release,
And the gum braised
Air returns to 
Dewy atmosphere.

I sit in wet.
No matter.

The view is much too
Pleasing to move.