Rainy Day

Only the rain moves,
nailing the houses 
into their own coffins.  

In childhood days
the rain sailed 
down alleys.

merrily sweeping 
motley papers, leaves,
once, a tiny pink shoe—

everything, to the sea, 
a rollicking circus 
calliope. 

Now the rain, 
the iron rain,
lets the sky 

place its
tombstones on
every single roof.