Before the rain diminishes and leaves a puddle here,
I’d like to let it swirl around, become a memory
of hamster balls and chimney sweeps, beholden to their work
atop the food chain, hesitating, bitter and obscure.
Something told me you were here;
I doubt it nevermore.
A thicker wheeze ensconces me before I blow my nose
and rectify my nasal flow to where it used to be
at bedtime.
I sneezed then.
Something told me snot was green;
I doubt it nevermore.
WHARVED 