The courtyard undergoes
serial dilutions, the rain
making miserable
and pooling underfoot.
There’s nothing
that can’t wait.
Or no consequence
real enough to blunt
this murk; it’s cold
by the window
but none of us move.
Even the geese
have long since
bailed, a lone
crow flies higher
than usual,
it doesn’t even look
alive, but more like
a hole, a mobile,
missing piece of sky,
and when the rain rises
the crow goes too,
or the sky fills in,
and emptiness spreads
across the courtyard
as the last few pedestrians
abandon poise and break
into a flat-out run.
OPTIONAL POETRY 
That is brilliant.
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This is making me reconsider why I live here, which happens every winter. But thank you 🙂
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Feel the geese shouldn’t have bailed out so soon; they could waited just long enough to see which of the unpoised pedestrians comes out ahead 🙂
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I think they are having more fun in SoCal laughing at all us Northerners who are stuck with this weather 🙂
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