The eleventh day makes a tenth done of time

that vanishes like an Alzheimer dream.

The summer rain is washing away, the

memories of that dustbowl landscape and

hydrated lungs that disabled me to scream.

The dark clouds are welcomed by,

raindrops reaching, seeds that want to bloom.

Little beginnings of a faraway future, which will reveal

the struggling and grasping onto straws of sanity, running

to stay out of that, ever sucking, depressive vacuum.

Why fight against the force that feeds those roots 

of everlasting challenges and confronting moments of pain.

While it’s those checks of reality, those reflections and 

opportunities to find an escape from thrown-up borders, 

are the balancing ingredients for not getting insane.

*****