• strange light

    in the coming storm
    old front door that doesn’t lock sways
    shrugs against its partner
    swings back

    poinciana lit
    like a cabaret stage

    I have to go out in this
    fight up that hill towards the storm

    I keep dreaming
    that the wind takes up my umbrella
    and I fly—always over this old city

    the spitting rain comes and goes
    doesn’t even bother the cat

    clouds are as indecisive as we are
    anxious, always, about getting toes wet

    raindrops linger in clouds
    lips inches from first kiss