Stories

Robert James Berry



I am dwelling over tales 
While bad-hearted rains 
Swell with stony voices
Over the rough country.

Light flickers above the wild lands
This side of the mountains

Ridges flash with violet fire

Then black
Smothering the whole world.

Inside
Fatherís antique clock
Resolves the lengths and breadths
Of time 

Assuaging the houseís wintry rafters 
Which reach down around me.

At my windows 
Rain pummels with nightmare fists.      
The  sky is flying smoke. 




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