Wetter

Wetter

A thousand screens a day -
screams across high frequencies
carve bleak, black furrows on face skin,
screwed up in the dim room glows.
The air recycles itself 
against the curtains, closed. 

But there is one lasting impression in my blur.
An image
Of a stuck shape in a raincoat, the smurry rain
it's skinny hand extruded, turning in the air
ridged with pulsing glassy veins -
recreating -
almost brand new.

We get wetter, still -
wildly, foot to hair, the world washes us out
willing us to remember that it is still here.

And my fingers are numbing, 
but a feeling does return.
The feeling of noticing things.
Little things.

Roberta Flack sings while the car goes home
amongst others just like it, 
dark spirits heaving through the washes
with us within,
without screens for one night.
Seeing the bends of reflected light on the disappearing circle signs,
and Roberta's BPM aligns, then,
with the wipers,
because the rain is just right.