Quiet
Weather
Rain arrives the way a thought does — first as a change in pressure, then as a sound at the window, then as the sudden certainty that you should have gone out prepared. These six pieces were set to be read slowly, one stanza at a time, in whatever order the scroll takes you.
I · Pressure
The sky lowers itself an inch at a time, as if it had forgotten something on the surface of the earth and would rather not ask us for it.
II · The Kitchen at Four
A glass of water, unattended, collects the whole grey afternoon. I drink the weather and it tastes of aluminium and coming home.
III · Marginalia
Somebody before me read this book and disagreed with everything. Their pencil is patient, exact, a small grey argument in the dark. I side with them, of course.
IV · Fugue for a Crossing
Green, and everyone moves at once, a hundred private errands agreeing, for eleven seconds, to be a crowd.
V · Inventory
Two chairs. One lamp. The low hum of a fridge doing its small duty. Everything I own answers when I put my hand on it.
VI · Clearing
By evening the street is rinsed and new, each puddle holding a thin and perfectly legitimate rectangle of sky.