I'm trying. Really.

I watched him watch the sky hopefully,
And the shadows of the menacing clouds almost fit the crossword.
Tails scissored against the green sky, and
Only for the eye will the storm never come.

I watched you leave the cello on the park bench in the rain,
Watched running water swerve to fill it, watched you return to drink it dry.
You smiled to yourself and carved your crucifix into the cherry
As one hundred black cats paced across your sidewalk.

Eggs are frying in the street, regardless of the ants swimming in the yolks.
Children’s pupils burst and deflate, and they walk through life flat-stared,
Light bouncing off retinas, images drowning in running iris.
The cold snap comes, and the roses bloom, red against the stark edge.

“Is it enough to say, ‘hysteria’?” Anathema asked.