The promised rain
has been detained
the day is just still
with little anticipation
for such a non-event,
and one that arrives
so innocuously—
the thinking
that nothing much will change
in a mild spring rain
by a veil of drops
but of course it will—
everything is touched,
the sidewalk’s sheen,
the gingko’s green,
the clipped walking pace
of the few passerbys
outside the window,
distant and distant,
twice removed—
the rain fills the gap
more visibly, it is
more there, more full,
really, there is very little nothing—
a reminder in these
slouching hours,
waiting for anything at all
to arrive
