Caverns

When rain comes, the water  seeps into the skin’s cracks and courses deep through the body into every root and abscess.

Unrelenting, it settles in, a new permanent fixture, it widens  arteries, erodes space away and  weighs the body to a steady indolence.

This heavy grinding thing, now  second nature, sits in the  chest, feeding and eroding. It’s patient and subtle as fear.

One day, somehow, it dries up.  The course flows out and you didn’t  notice. When you move, the worn  smooth caverns still howl in wind like waves.

You ring when struck, a high echoing chime, for a moment fills empty air.