Down the rain shaft also
thought of as a street
(though nothing is a street when it rains),
a sky with few stars remains lit
by a cool maroon:
a stretch in the correct manner.
Have you ever wondered
how it is to cry upon arrival?
Have you truly seen places with form?
I have no reason to go anywhere.
Only perhaps, for dry air's sake.
It's something they call discovery
or a hiding.
Talk too much, but not here.
Instead I stand near people,
watch them covered
like animals in rain
under an unfolding black.