Into Awnings

Running up a side street by Franklin, laughing

We can’t step outside this winter without returning marked

Soles of our boots dripping, hair scattering droplets

Until now we had not known the nature of leaning into awnings, of waiting for the world to subside

But here we stand

In the streetlamps the trees sway and frame the light, leafless and spiraling closer

A cobweb of backlit branches, dripping into puddles below

Later, I standalone out in a lull of the storm

Cold bites through my shirt, gusts of wind knock down chairs

And it feels as if nothing could ever be wrong in life

Ever again