Slipshod Silhouette

In the morning's mourning's
subtle laughter:

Footsteps falling
in the raindrop's splater,
cast beneath
a broken umbrella's
slipshod silhouette.

The weather starts
its soaking through,
you feel it, feel it
squishing in your
soleless shoes.

The clamor crashing
drip drop choir
gives up the body
in gray attire,

ground to sky.

All lines are busy:
wasting, watching
details depart
in the woeful washing,

all the while,
wistful thunder
echoes from on high.