Dear

Raindrops on the window

please stop impersonating me

with your stillness and your going

you are too much like modern punctuation

trying to evaporate so quietly

nobody notices you have died

because of cell phones

and escaped into that reservoir

of nostalgia around which I pretend to jog

but mostly mosey,  the way

mushrooms do and other spongy

things that prefer spongy dreams

on moist lawns faking wine

each morning home

to the disconcerting rest