the small of her back
a curve curving
a belt, the shoes
moisture beside itself
deeply inside

they weave, heave
together and apart
wheels surely caressing rails
with much ado
about coming and going

of the breath
in her wordless utterances

a lightening strike
so close, it tutors
the electricity in everything
on the songs of every
childhood, the heart
of every beat

a mad dash through
the rain, her newsprint umbrella
soggy blouse, a door held
here, come in here

before now or later could
begin to ask when
before strange could meet stranger
now a gentle, now gripping
now releasing now
gently bow

moisture beside them
in the air, smoking now
arrested by silence
in the memory of
what rain sounds like

while her blouse plausibly dries
on the back of a chair