The Elements

Floodtide, a temporary
lake gathered under
the railway bridge by

the dip in the road
and a jogger running
on the spot, confused,

not wanting to lose
momentum. A drain
spouts a fountain

and streetlights sink
the luminous bricks
of their reflections

into brown water.
The pallet that floats
past numbers not one

survivor on board.
A terminal air
things are taking,

I would have said
once, but there
is no escaping

as lightly as that.
The rain keeps
coming and why let

something as minor
as our flood-sodden
end stop us now?