It is raining all day here
adding to last night
and the sky is
completely grey

but the town has not flooded.
There is one roadside pond
where water always collects
but cars can drive though

splashing anything for fun.
It is not torrential.
It is only miserable.
It will stop eventually.

Night will come sooner still
with the clocks turned back
but we cannot reset ours.
We are what we are

defined by time long gone.
We mustn’t confuse the weather
with despair and diminishing
even when writing poetry:

I was told today that is just
an idea
and these are for manifestos.

I am simply composing out loud.