I remember my mom, a dark morning
walking hurriedly, then huddling in the rain,
inside her coat she holds me, warm against wind,
the rapping sound of droplets on stretched fabric,
the airbrakes of buses on the avenue layers away

in rainlight under
small umbrellas
cozy in drizzle
people come and go

scurry really, blurred
more from mist than speed

who knows where that time goes…

everywhere a dollop of puddle,
walloping pools of warm water,

most things float – so many boats rush the curb
wash-away run-water, tickling trickles,
memories of ripples sounding

the pavement, again a stream,
rivulets attain velocity

the light reflected is real
as is the actual light

poetry in diffraction, astigmatism
radiates deep color

whose megaliths are these at the outcrop?
– it pours on the bridge as well
as under it – surely, waters rise and runoff

the open window brings spray – sprizzle
with each breeze the coverlet dampens

Chagall 2019