Wet

On the hundredth day of rain,

pale greenish light filters through

glistening cottonwood leaves,

illuminating puddles,

on one of which is floating

a single, wind-ferried leaf,

at which a wet bluejay picks.

Note: I think maybe I have accidentally devised a new poetic form, a 7 X 7 pattern comprising seven seven-syllable lines. ¬†Since I haven’t seen such a form before, I’m going to assume it’s new and tentatively call it a “settain” until someone bursts my bubble by telling me it’s actually a common form made famous by the great poet X that I am embarrassingly ¬†ignorant not to be aware of.

Copyright 2015

T. Allen Culpepper

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