It hasn't stopped raining
the past twenty hours.
Recycled jackets hang
like ghosts around us.
We are dripping memories.
I think of umbrellas
traveling rooftops
nudgeing and shoving-
I do not miss the constant
need for selfish shelter
from things that can not harm.
The puddles reflect light,
splatter noise.
It's easier to hear them
sopping wet and moaning,
Limbs dragging,
suction to the pavement,
Like sidewalk slugs
Unable to hide where they're going,
where they've been.
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