After The Row

Light glows red around the rim
at half past six. The building creaks.
Needles of rain pierce the ground.

Dawn cross-hatches a Western wind,
like swear words, written and scribbled out.
Shadows play on the walls and door.

It’s been like this all week.
Still, it should be over soon.
At least it hasn't hailed...

It's early yet. I quietly close
the bedroom curtains, doze, and wait -
defiant, dry, inside my shell.

Sunlight, sun-white, spills into the room -
seeps through gaps. The patter of rain grows faint.
I hood my eyes, make prisms of my lids,
as pins and photons mingle in the air.