Sitting down into the shallow rushing water that gathered on the corner.
Two in the morning and she’s with a moderate moment that won’t allow her to tread.
Street water gathering from the rain, pouring lightly, for hours.
Her skin an unaffected temperature.
Tired sweatshirt she wrapped tightly around her
Recalling all the times she did this
in front of him and her and him and that.
Gathering, rushing, pooling, standing city water.
Relaxed into her sopping shoes,
Dragging her ankles through tiny streams.
Her back against the curve,
Her legs against the stacked horizontal bricks.
Swimming with dirty thoughts and tendencies.
Stagnant emotions
and the continuos build up along her calfs.
She bent her knees and the water rushed under.
Flatten and build. Lift and let it run.
Until too late
she sat under some designated streetlight, a spotlight in her childlike thoughts.
And felt the dirty water build against her legs
until she released her joints.
I love "Two in the morning and she's with a moderate moment", "Her skin an unaffected temperature", "in front of him and her and him and that". This is great poetry.
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