A Spring rain, soon forgotten

The morning, bright and grey,
has brought that soft, all-day rain
peculiar to certain regions, like here.

Neither dire nor gloomy;
gentle patterings on the sill
And out the streetside window—
Wet roads that sound like
crushed velvet or old dresses,
piled flat in a secondhand store.

No slantwise wind or biting air
Just a fine steady parade of silken threads
falling from bright skies

Sequins and bright baubles
gather on the lips of things,
then parachute one by one, to
Join up with silvered rivulets
in the mud of backyards, or
the sunken spots in the pavement.

Inspiring of bookish pursuits
or, maybe, a walk—
The streets are quiet and empty.

Only the swishing of tires as they pass,
pressing unforeseen creases
into the faded dresses—
a jazz brush accompaniment
for a quiet grey spring day,
soon forgotten.

May 22, 2017