Impervious to Moisture

No rain, at least; just chilly drifting fog
and half a moon, up-tilted, drinking sky
like darkness wine. The buses groan and sob,
protesting steep 15^th with diesel cries.
A cold condensing drop falls from a twig
and clings upon my coat-sleeve. Micro-suede
refuses to get wet. A casual flick
sends crystal fragments scattering away
like broken glass. Slick to every touch,
to feathered fog-kiss and to pouring rain,
I tread the dawn sidewalk, impervious
resisting splash of mud and coffee stain.
But micro-fiber coats, however sleek
cannot keep off the water from my cheek.

Collection available! Knocking from Inside