what is the point of rainy afternoons
of bubbling puddles beneath gutters
when you are not with me
when all this water in between
keeps us apart

what is the point of strawberries and plums
of reds and violets and crumbs of bread
spread on the pavement
when pigeons hide under the eaves
and are not hungry anymore

just wet and lonely
wet and lonely
like raindrops
and gutters
and us