Conjuring the Overcast
Nothing about today made me feel differently.
I drank coffee close to my windows to fog them, hoping to see
you cast out those dirty little pigeons from behind that woven
cage of hair you made and take me behind the anchorages
of boat docks to bleed into weather beaten wood like thickly
mixed blackish-brown acrylic scraped on shade.
Lately, the sun burns off the wet air and scatters you about
too quickly, absorbing me into brightly colored hats
and sandals, wispy clouds that barely touch the sky, warm eyes
and handshakes that ring doorbells to call me off the couch
and lead me on outside.
I will wait here
for your drippy face to fall
into a dreary mist and collect
on my windows tomorrow.
Nothing about today made me feel differently about that.