UNTITLED

We put on slickers, and rain boots, and wield umbrellas
like rapiers, and go out into the day where day is

not day so much as dusk forever. Outside, the cold
nips at our ankles like excited dogs and we keep tripping
over them, it, something. Someone? I can see my breath
and I can see yours too, and I think it's copulating in front of us.

My hands are in my pockets (is that a nickel?) nestled like
bears in caves, trying to keep warm and I hope they have
enough food for the winter or else they will never survive this.
Raindrops kiss us all over, lavishing us with attention,
too much attention, as we cross the avenue and we bow
our shoulders and crawl into our jackets and hope they will go away.

Where is the sun I ask, and you grunt and I feel stupid for
asking because it was a stupid question. I miss her though.