Oh, thunder, you said In that innocuous mid-distance Where meaning both escapes and evokes The lights in tall buildings Play dominoes Until almost everyone has left Rain makes static Too lacklustre for lightning scars Just the nondescript Evening noise Of cutlery and creaking doors Too late not to notice In the paint-chipped plateau Beyond wet-lipped, quick-torn fingernails Half open is not the same As half closed Though the window jambed Still The grey gets through
