A sympathetic rain washed
the face of the street.
Parked cars, asleep and cold
lined the street.
Buildings with lighted towers
reached into low clouds.
Gray shadows feel lazily over sidewalks.
Umbrellas mushroomed up,
into weaving patterns,
forming a covenant between
head and heaven.
A fair wind lifted fallen newspapers
and hats while shoes splashed
into puddles making the morning city
jagged images.
Traffic moved without form.
Roger Singer 