Soaked City - a poem about the dark foam of days

eight days ago, the sky was pierced,

spears of water fell right down,

tilting our heads in dampened gloom,

gluing the leaves on cement skin.

oceans must’ve moved above us,

their water slowly soaked the clouds

until they could not bear the pressure,

and soaked our hearts into the salt.

there’s only dirt that rain revealed,

and mud, and slime, and empty streets,

the water brings up all the squalor,

the foam of days is dark in color.

the rain will fall for eight more days,

there’s so much dirt to move around,

I press the windowsill in silence,

and wonder if I will get cleaned.