025: swept me away

I’m addicted to cafés—I’ll go to multiple in one day—but I always feel strange when I arrive and in less than an hour I’m gone.

Driving in misting rain,

sitting on rocks under a willow, branches dipped in water,

postcards from London in 1926,

Main Street sidewalks deserted and mine,

music I can fall asleep beside—

these things I can survive on

for a while.

take the strangeness away.

I heard this, remembered steps from a dance I choreographed on the rainy days—must have been three summers ago.

I will never comprehend the world’s aversion to rain.