Gloom

My heart misses something With the thirst of a dry mouth As dreams accumulate In the belly of the day I find my face looking More like that of a bird Longing to pick at the crumbs Of daydreams The clouds have been static Pretending they have no rain Inside their grey cottony bearing But when a man goes out Without an umbrella A shower comes down with the eye Of a hunter The gloom grows more No more a fledgling But a cloud of smoke Left behind by explosives Gloom is now pure gloom Like untrimmed shrubs A home to hibernating insects.