Tag Archives: rain

Partitions

Posted on November 14, 2022 by John Biscello

It has been called this mortal longing and we have all hailed there all ached there swearing. Between lisping partitions of rain we seek phantom threads blue gray promising to guide us down unmarked roads to deepening distances. Seeking being … Continue reading →

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Fade

Posted on October 16, 2022 by John Biscello

It has been called this mortal longing and we have all hailed there all ached there swearing. Between lisping partitions of rain we seek phantom threads blue gray promising to guide us down unmarked roads to deepening distances. Seeking being … Continue reading →

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Sphinx

Posted on October 2, 2022 by John Biscello

The broken pulsing fingers of rain, cloning time, tap spates of symmetry against my window— This, both cause and effect, upon the glassy passage of hours, dwindling, singing, undeciphered.

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Rainy Day Woman

Posted on June 1, 2022 by John Biscello

When Lucy left the café, I saw her open her umbrella before stepping out into the rain. Her umbrella was red. Her long wool coat was black. These colors, as harmony, stitched together by the rain, echoed within me for … Continue reading →

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This Dreamed Life

Posted on December 22, 2021 by John Biscello

Remember me to the ease of light, its pause and passage, we are not long for this earth, which swallows us, and our lovetagged bones, as a matter of natural course and radical recomposition, all the gifts, and hopes unwound … Continue reading →

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Losing my Religion

Posted on October 19, 2020 by John Biscello

Religion of rain, I prayed to get wet, and then entered her slowly.

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How the Heart Rains

Posted on June 17, 2018 by John Biscello

My heart, as a fool forever in love with love’s mercurial climate, does not beg for static coverage, or seasons to stop voicing their natural patterns, yet my heart, childlike in its prehistory, sometimes strives to alchemize the weather, to … Continue reading →

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Glisten

Posted on May 22, 2018 by John Biscello

It is hard to believe, but after years and years of clawing with bitten nails, and digging with torn palms, in the heart of a stone she found the babybluest wisps of cloud, soft nimbus music, to which she tendered … Continue reading →

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N.

Posted on April 17, 2018 by John Biscello

Sssshhh, gently now, gently, Love, the slippered guest, the tender trespasser, enters the house of wet leaves, softly, finger pressed to asking lips, no more questions, just this: the sound of rain, pealing, to bless storied thirst.  

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Easter

Posted on March 28, 2018 by John Biscello

She, tender Sunday, wearing only beads of rain– her skin held the light.

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