rain on the overhill road

sun slips fingers, nails of soft

malleable gold peeling, stripping

dark

clouds, mist obscuring the kingdom,

pressing the city in grey

luster, pressing petrichor

from damp cement, milking

fresh

green sprouts, thirsty

early spring eager

to bud in a gloom

so attuned, wrapped

in tender sorrow,

rueful written scenes

of tragicomedy, breaking

shine chipping away

dolor for ruth.