The promised rain
has been detained

the day is just still
with little anticipation

for such a non-event,
and one that arrives

so innocuously—
the thinking

that nothing much will change
in a mild spring rain

by a veil of drops
but of course it will—

everything is touched,
the sidewalk’s sheen,

the gingko’s green,
the clipped walking pace

of the few passerbys
outside the window,

distant and distant,
twice removed—

the rain fills the gap
more visibly, it is

more there, more full,
really, there is very little nothing—

a reminder in these
slouching hours,

waiting for anything at all
to arrive