Rainy days are good for
shouting through your nose
and numbing your face
against the roar of storm-spray.
 
Where you walk, the wet
grizzles away at hard floors.
No one can hear you talk.
From other floors and corridors,
everyone who sees you
recognises no one
in the open corridors
that keep you damp.
 
On the street, you and I walk
heads down under umbrellas,
drumming foot-falls and raindrops,
tuning forks in our noses,
resonant with the thought of home.
The sky has the blind smell of water.
 
On the train, no one
looks into anyone's face.
Each body is sleeved against the cold.
You forgive me my space —
everyone goes without moving.