The rain sounds out the road, into the windy streets,
The cosmos of walking.
In the end we hear the decibels
Of the sun, without the roots
I write chance.
Life is the square of tree and moon.
Life is a squint, a DIY cassette,
A messy aim, a stupefied grin, and perfection.
That’s why there are stars,
Though always with us,
Over and over love is something else.