I start working on these things during breaks at work. Then, if I have time & energy, I write them later.

4

 
Providence.  Rain-soaked street.
Hesitant March weather (cool, 
gray).  Low clouds, parallel
to the granite, concrete.

 
Where fountains of ocean sky
come pouring, showering... a gray
mosquito boat floats - hovering
between the streams (evasive, shy).

 
This concrete husk of solitary walks.
Maze of temporary paths.
Revolving labyrinth,
crepuscular (within gray rocks).

 
Along descending granite steps
a wake of wayward pelerine -
maybe some muttering Madeleine,
grey-eyed Ondine (of unknown depth)

 
- within an Escher etching, inside out.
We know how Jonah must have felt
beneath Leviathan's gray pelt.  That
submersible arc light, sans spout -

 
grave of abortive prophecies,
gray cul-de-sac - sacral skull
(chambered) sounding burial
at sea.  Within a sea-worm

 
(see?).  Then a swift gray seedling-
bark of buoyant pity - one o'nine 
amazing coattails, trailing five fine
contrails - thar she blows now, peeling...