Last night
it was raining
and a window
rattle
represented
everything
I was afraid of;
unseen threats,
that we wouldn't
escape
the city alive,
and when streetlights
flickered too
I remembered you
your face
close to mine.
The parlor and desk,
by the window
could not protect me.
and still can't.
A siren lifted me
from reverie
intoning a warning
that promised daylight
was still far off
—was still, and far off—
and it's constituent clamor
of rising
was neither good
nor evil
but imminent
and inescapable.
Outside people
walked unhurried
but faces down,
rainslicked and
low
the night went slow.
