Blighted Morning

Blighted morning your tepid rain restores no balance

The ping and slap of fallen water pushing the filth in circles upon my window sill

Peering through the gauze of window sheers your streaks and runs distort to no avail

The light of your day gray upon white

Furious whispers are all you can muster

Clattering of pooled children gathered and release over dampened eves

Their hollow thuds celebrated upon cold concrete graves

Chasing and stalled streams of your ancestors litter the stoop

All flowing unsure to a common destination on lower ground

Streets half-heatedly glisten with your inadequate glaze

The crags and crevices of the city swallow and consume your every drop

Futile mists and scattered pellets gather your whits and regroup for the next assault