Grey washes over,
Wet, dripping – the world is washed.
We lay concealed, hidden to stop it from reaching us.
There is no need for new,
Only a continuation of what there is,
But what does water do
To create a new world?
I only see a mask
To hide what is not to be seen.
So, you and I,
remain away, without the baptism
To preserve, by fire,
The growing endearment
That shakes us from the night’s dreams,
To a glowing day that makes your face more dear
Than the sun to dry this wet weather.