today's the kind of day
where you have to stick your hand out the window
in order to tell
if it is raining;

or you have to watch the puddles
on the rooftop below yours
to see if it ripples
or stands still.

the rain is grey
like the sky—the fusing of smoke from thousands
of God's smoke stacks—and the wind
keeps it all from falling straight
and instead makes it prick your eyes
with each spring drop:

Tuesdays are always days for rain.

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