rain crashes on the tables and chairs
outside this shiny little bar downtown.
we shelter inside under the weight of the clouds.
we cling to drink or work or food or conversation.
we expertly convince ourselves and each other
that our surroundings are not falling apart;
endlessly breaking down into their component parts.
water falls across the glass in sheets as we peer through it
at an unfamiliar, distorted, and entirely changed setting.
barely perceptible erosion disassembles
the environment that we percieve as permanent.
pavement is a little less each day, after every storm.
rain smashes and wind whips away the detritus.
warm, electric light and music keeps us all safe,
and contained, inside of a twenty-four hour period.
everything shifts and rearranges around us.
what was yesterday is something else today.
something is gone. some things are new.