Rainy Spring Night in Moscow, Late


Black water running with circles,

gutters under street lamps,

pale flesh, florescent light.

The wet I feel is

the same one as in the woods.

But at night, without

campfire, I would not see.

Out there under clouds,

no moon, I would have

no eyes, only ears.

My senses would not be


About johnsmithiiimxiii

John Smith, IIMXIII is the avatar of an award winning poet, artist, etc. who still lives in the Palouse country of the Pacific NW. He has not received much notice with his prose . . . but as his avatar, I hope that he keeps plugging along.

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