Bare bodies, brown shapes
scraped by chisels of rain,
these marbles that
glitter on the road.
They titter
as storms tickle them.
Joy trickles down
their throats.
Clouds,
bitter, gray-haired,
cough admonitions,
Sky, red-faced
spills rage.
But they do not read.
They play until
they're clay,
and then-
one tumbles down
a looted cart,
another rolls
under a dripping bush.
There's room
for a third to glide,
hide, push-
But
the others do not bide
their time in litter.
They glitter in the rain
until the shattered sky
is whole again.
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