“Often, probably because I was so tired, the rain seemed more than rain”
Then all the pools were like nickels
until dark when the ashes
collapsed. Each time I lit up my face.
The downpour from the Keys and ruined trailers,
a roof flying across the headlines. Listen
to the unaware: water and wood.
She's waiting for it to leave.
He calls it by its common name, devil in the mist.
It would startle itself if it could
with its repeated blue, its wired-on extensions,
its hallucination in the rain.
In the night the copper flashing holds,
the tea makes my mouth open and close
mechanical as any memory.
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