a line of unravelling grey steel
wool smudges the horizon...
And as the closed around me walk on,
I start running seeking shelter.

Sprinting now the winds,
call the waves from the sea, 
white skywards like snow,
drawn upward as if in rapture.

Just before they were disappeared, 
people looked up, around, godwards,
before hiding themselves inwards,
scattered to the swirling rain.

Still, they'd ignored,
the annoying omens,
that had left them,
dry and by - the squalls before.