Seven Poems

So let the stars stay up there,
you can still touch them in the river.
~
After the storm
nature silently surveys
her violence.
~
In the dead of night
only the river
talks to the moon.
~
Out of a slate sky
rain hammers nails
into the window panes.
~
Rain so fine
it’s dust in the air,
cobwebs in my face.
~
If we bothered to listen to it,
the river would tell us
about an epic journey from the moors.
~
Pen held out in the wind
and ink streams away
scrawling poetry across the sky.