ㅁ The raindrops fall, suggest, and ruminate on wood, on steel, as if possessed, as if their tapping could interpret sweeping time or render grasping trees immobilized; their rhyme, their syncopated tease of meanings never found - unfindable besides - just apophenic sound and rhythm that just slides all down the edges till the world dissolves its will.
– a sonnet in iambic trimeter.
