Waking to obvious rain. Like bright
-hued children the construction men
wait, dwarfed by and dampened at
the site’s abyss. Something might
be wrong, now, they collect
and gather, staring down. Conjecture:
a short but unknowable distance.
A gull’s nervous warble, unseen.
The stillness of the ginkgo tree.
No wind. Someday it will grow
to shade this view, to blatantly
obscure, not by illusory degrees—
I know what is unknowable,
sometimes. All this slanting rain.
A worker picks at a clogged drain
as it floods, so the water keeps running on.