The cold rain shivers.

I dart, indoors to indoors,

generous shelters.

God, it is so dark.

My throat closes like the night,

kaleidoscopic.

At five, the sky rusts.

My stride matches my husband’s,

a shared metronome.

The sky is no clock.

My body wants to obey

its demand for sleep.

The sky is no clock.

My body wants to obey

its demand for sleep.

Afternoon, evening,

merge as the sky stops dancing,

parting from the clock.

In early dimness,

a quiet, unmoving sky 

chills, waiting for dusk.

Dripping, drooping, weak.

The skin and the rain: both grey.

An unrestful sleep.