precipitate

 Late in the day and it’s all gone gray, lashes of rain beneath a shutdown sky, headlights and the gasp of tire tread navigating the pavement. Traffic slow and accelerates, the shush of transformed traction carrying up through the open window, crisp above the steady sounds of the autumn storm. Mostly dry, I sift through the unspoken. I spend my treasure upon rumor and threat, all the lingering lovers long since left. The words all gone, the shun the moon and sun. 

I limp around the house, wounded limbs and a broken heart. The heater kicks on as the aluminum roof of the porch rattles away, the downpour sounding tattoos and paradiddles as the dust turns to mud. I close the curtains and turn on the lights. The rain spills, and I am still the stranger. Stung by apostasy and the fickle receipt of favor, I am listless beneath contempt as the night comes on strong. 

The words are less than useless. The words are poisoned possibilities, all trick and tether, the rope just enough. It sticks and starts, from the breathless beginnings to the dull brutish ends. The hours off and on, abandoned to homely habits and anxious repetitions, the litany of being cruelty and blessing unto death. Tears fall and the gutters swell, wishing I was more than wished well. The wear of want upon the instrument as it sounds and sounds. Keening for the gone for good, watching the rain beat rivers onto rooftops, wondering what this sad navigation has begun.