There’s something wrong
With the rain tonight,
Not quite right
And unattended –
Desolate little drops,
A plenty and falling,
Or leaping,
As suicide’s now stained –
The houses, the trees,
The tollbooths, the tires
And doldrums my feet now reside.
In angst over wet, these lesser and
Imagined crimson,
I encounter a wind,
Quite possibly a whisper,
But a chill to remind bone –
That we all end someday
And we’ll all be ended
Someday
As well.