nothing here is glazed with rain
after the storm blows by
everything seems brighter
not just color
but a brim of light’s shades
not less in a license plate’s sneaky gleam
fitted to frames of swiftly snapped pictures
altered and unstable and runny
like acetylene on the breeze
or sepia flavored lamplight
littering damage that bruises hues to blooms
as the fetters of smoky disappointment
cling to crumbling leaves
as hurried checks on troubled gutters
miss the richness or vivid tatters of a petal’s last flutter
as the wind’s untried triumphs topple trashcans
and toupées get tossed
we are left with fence posts that glimmer
and streets of glassy resplendence
to live with
while we can
because nothing here is
nothing
here
is
nothing
here is
you
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