Look into the Innenhof
not out upon the rain-slick street
it’s easier
that way.

Decadent hail at the window
brings the history of rain
running, dripping
down your languid gaze.

Dream important things
are taking place inside the Innenhof—
while the water rises
they choke under its weight.

More water, green and choppy
the Innenhof is undone
sloshing, wet and pure, immobile—
birds are drowning.

Out of the frothy wash
your place bobs to the surface
freed of its moorings
in boring things.

You are lucky and precarious
floating on your hollow buoyancy
waiting for the rain to quit
watching the slow clouds break.