Birds scatter, lacking surface tension, cohesion. They barricaded the sidewalk, but only on one side, turning back it said DANGER. Even a shrug would be too decisive. Nothing sticks, an oilcloth sky, raindrops and seagull droppings. Could have been much worse, but wasn’t
Summer went out like a light, extinguished. Rain now pools on the roof, sounds of passive movement, the day cedes more willingly. Water splashes up beneath a passing car, yes, this city is more beautiful when damp, saturated, it carries more weight, occupies more space. Yes I booked the flights. What hell to wait, sometimes, to inhabit every hour, each a different room, interminable. Some hearts come more even-keeled, don’t yearn while floating through a […]
Rain, finally. As if home was returning from battle– the cold slick road engulfed correctly the familiar treachery of a high mountain pass– prodigal clouds come back as if visitors. Who knew this summer could actually end? A timely progression of seasons, how strangely normal. Still a headache from yesterday’s smoke, but seeing it, belief and then such relief despite white-knuckle driving for hours after
and then a silence becomes unspeakable spring rain gentle except for when it is not complacency split up by unusual intermissions damp green and watery themes the creek up the lake spilling its bounds each leaf recoiling back to how it was or wasn’t can this transition be considered status quo how a season always goes transience in object definitions always a before even these mountains and the expectation of after breaths collect in cool […]
Rain starting to come in the open window the day says get to the point and July as a whole– I don’t know, it is somehow insubmersible . a stream of ragged people go by with unclear words but that tone is unmistakable . water beads up on the glass, imperfect, but linear– . and so, this month goes on
The world today, flooding intermittently. Dry now, the sky is being willfully obtuse about just what it is— the white of an eye, a means of containment. Nothing about it says finite. The city seen from a moderate distance— old glass, new glass, die-cut gulls. It’s a low ceiling that we operate under. In copper-hued plate glass, the transit of clouds.
A tenuous rain, or maybe it’s terse— nuance is giving me grief today. I feel empty, in both the sense of hollow and hungry— and contain enough hard reversals that I am as much a contronym as refrain, or apology— persistently ceasing, sorry I’m not sorry–
It rained last night, sad to have missed it– the porch boards blotched a deeper hue, the only hint it happened, everything else dry, the sky that white -blue color of a bit lip, tight-curled knuckles, afraid to let another drop spill out.
OPTIONAL POETRY 