How Hail Happened to Fall

Pluk, plik, plop, splot,

the hail began to fall on my roof

and it splattered and clattered down my bedroom's glass panels.

The icy rocks taste like a hot summer day

and the burning saline sea.   

Pluk, plik, plop, splot,

birds are chirping on the branches full of morning dew.

The hail  is screaming and pounding on my head

as if I killed his home and he wants it back.

The hail has pulled me into my darkest dreams

to where I thought they would be gone forever.

Hail is the smell of being alone

in the deep chilly forest. Being left alone

with no one near you.