Slight Return

The way the rain talks out of the
side of its mouth fogging the mirrored
sky
              a perfect imitation of which
in surround sound might keel over
                              or take a nose-dive somersault
              from the edge of your
heart where you’ve been spending
a lot of time lately
                              pitching tears into trampoline ashtrays
              dovetailed against narrow gray
                                                alleyways flapping
                              damp eyelids as washed out palm tree
              shadows (pale as anemic puddles)
                                                                strum the pavement