Exposure
Rain, you said, is silence turned up high. It has been raining now for days. Even when it stops there is still the sound of rainwater, laboring to find some way into the ground. We lie in grim embrace: these two halves trying to be whole, straining for this break in the static, in the white noise that was rain falling all day and all through the sheeted night. Silence is rain with the sound turned down, and I stare out now on a clear view of something left out on the line: a life, snagged there - drenched, shrunken, unrecognisably mine. - Robine Robertson