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Description
hold your tongue.

there's a storm coming and
you're sick of it, but the rain-slick pavement's
so beautiful in the light, a
red smear paint-stroke shadow with a soul;
when the lightning bolt falls
you inhale the wreck of sky and stare
at the scent of this dirt rich place
with its downpour name.
tilt your umbrella. breathe.
nothing will stay dry.

this is not how the world
ends. you promise until you believe
in the sunrise tomorrow,
but no matter how you rush the water rushes
faster. the birds flock out and flowers drown
so you slow down, look around.

hold your breath.

you lose the umbrella to the wind.
you burn out and forget to swim.
someone thought the city was beautiful
but you just liked things the color of luck
of rust of roses of dawn and
of blood

there is a ledge.
you can stand but up to your neck; you can look
but not for long.
home has lost its light and the sun has almost set
and at last the walls are cracking.

all things come to an end
and for fear of believing in stars
you stood still and watched it happen.