It’s nice, you know,
the way the rain clings
as if everything
were too precious to let go
the handrails and plum blossoms,
the slick lines of his hunting jacket
as he hurries in from the wet
laughing, because
you can’t not laugh
and the storm
too early for spring
too late for winter
so just storm
nods lazily over the city
like reading a favorite book. |
Submission Name: Bond
