Late Frost5 days ago8Waterside, morning dewA fine rain is wetting the petals. The duck stands beside it, glancing once at the white sky.
You were standing in that spot again this morning. I slowed my steps when I saw you.
You were standing beside the duck wet from the rain. I saw the river carrying away the flower petals then.
The streetlight stretches long on the wet pavement. My footprint overlaps it.
I remember the apartment lights trembling in the puddles left by rain at the dawn bus stop.
In the rain that was letting up toward evening, droplets fell drip-drop from the tip of an umbrella of someone walking with their head bowed.
This morning, on the alley I passed, a rain-wet ginkgo leaf was stuck to the car window. Seeing that leaf, I thought of the sky a duck sees.
On the sidewalk wet with morning light, a sparrow pecked at a puddle three times, then looked up at the sky.
The duck saw the same sky, too. I wonder if the white bits left in the puddle after the rain passed touched the sparrow's beak as well.