for shrouding clouds wringing wet,
for the tapping, sequential mapping of raindrops:
‘Last seen here’ before lost in the flood,
glad to shiver and stare as the silver damp
coalesces the world to its shinier self,
glad that every surface has a new,
slick second skin that drinks daylight in,
making room for the next fallen drop.
Glad for the noise on the roof keeping time
to the tea kettle’s song. Glad for the heat
in the cup, steam threads twisting up,
lost to the space in the room. Glad for the mystery
of shadows on walls, tea leaves in my cup
and lost whistles down halls. Glad end to the
day guttered away, finally, into night.