It is a prickly rain
That sprays here from Newark
Bay
This early June
Cold even
In a season meant for warmth
No real excuse
Just testimony
On the weatherman’s chart.
Each sharp drop
Stabbing my face
As I walk against the wind
Up and then down
The asphalt walk,
Then onto the muddy path
Where sleepy early morning
Citizens nod as they pass
Dawn breaks over
The rippled edge of former factories
A hint of red
And then an explosion
Painting the edge of cloud
With suggestion of light
The day is yet unwilling
To reveal.
No warmth,
Just continued rain
And me lingering over
The rail and the rock
Search the water for
Signs of life
Bit of light flicking
On the rough water
Like cut diamonds
Lost in an instant
As the storm batters
Down the surface
Me, searching for
The jewels lost
Even as I move on
Each puddle filled
Not with hope
But with continued
Illusions.
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