Emily sprinkles her fingers down the glass
trace-reading the drops on the other side,
‘Look, ’ she says, simple as a god, ‘rain.’
...
9.42 and I’m banking through leaf-mould
and memories, waiting to swap weather
with my mother: she likes to check the skies
...
The paint splashed path is curved
like ancient myth, its end in view
but endlessly removed; the lolling sea
is half a mile or half a step away
...