View Poem by Conor Dowd

I stand under the shelter of an old
boat-house by the woods
as the curtains of rain smother my view,
and watch the silent cinema of nature,
its afternoon baptism,
the way the machinery of wind and water
frame what I see.

The film unwinds itself for my enjoyment.
The camera records.

Statue-still,
observing and reflecting on a mundane sight
I've seen so many times before but now,
awoken,
I see something new in the sheets of gray,
the weeping sky and the way the clouds
touch the mountains with their moist breath.

Today I've seen something different.
Maybe tomorrow I will see what I have always seen
and pass by.