Raw rain and petrichor,
gathering in the cuffs and corners
of the nightwalk - I miss her,

the blonde from group therapy
however many years ago, L-----,
whose upper case traumas

mirrored mine across that beige couch
& the waiting room sand garden.
Hard hide years, those,

but as far as I know she did OK.
Me, I tried in desperation to marry
someone who simply didn't run,

but you can imagine how that went.
I remember seeing L----- on a Wednesday
morning, her voice a lace surprise

at seeing me, greening grass wings
spread before us on Farragut's diagonal,
her black shoe arch pressing the world

firmly away from her. She rafted away,
as almost everyone does in a life:
the sun called in sick, the moon

maw yawned and yawed, the sea
throbbed into the stones. New rain
on my face - just rain, just rain, just rain...