When the rain stops
and the grey blue palette of watercolor,
mist
and wetness that clings to the napes of necks
- hair is trying to drip dry in the moist air -
wraps around our bodies
(some parts touch as I pass you the umbrella, sodden)

We will pick ourselves up
from the unnaturally green ground
lego town
-the water will blaze in our highlights too -
and wipe the backs of dirty denim jeans,
leaving transient bum prints on the floor,
once a fleshy sanctuary from the downpour

We will pick our bags from the field,
cheap color running into the shirts that won't come clean
- a red and blue tie dye without permission -
and tug the rusty steel limbs
of the sodden umbrella,
left to rot in the wet moment past, observe its black canopy
-labelled "rain" -
and walk

When the rain stops,
you and me
baby
will pick up the remnants of our lives
and
walk
on.