Monday, April 13, 2020

That’s more like it, we decide,
Chin reaching most of the way
Over shoulder, eyes slipping
Out into the downpour, jaw clenched.

Clouds of rain blow off roof-tops
To blend with fresh hordes, their weight
Somehow crippling and nothing
At all. Blustering about. Dead,

Yet somehow living. Breath
Fills air pockets with new wealth,
Face slackens, blinds open wide,
And eyes slide back to other windows.