Passages
Just yesterday, the parchy leaves
scuttled crabwise here between
the wall and wall and sidewalk dust.
Then, we wondered if it could rain.
If rain meant something else than water,
if rain meant a bright hot sky. Now
the bricks gleam wet, crustacean leaves
guttered, gone. Here is nothing but
the wall and wall and sidewalk man
in the cold shelter of the wall,
smelling of firecrackers, wanting heat.