hemmed in by rain,

umbrella's ferrule signals

this silent streak.

bolder than wheels on wet

black streets, mind and body

fall for one another.

flashing pins in drop, who

never register a top or bottom.

this again is spring, in the way

of this world, brought to the

surface to be put in phase for

another.

the street does not wait for

crossing, it'll be crossed--because I

believe there's somewhere I need

to be.

so do flowers.