Rain on the bus window
made the whole world run.
Trees ran.
Mailboxes ran.
Telephone poles ran one by one.
Cows got wiggly.
Houses bent.
A stop sign melted red.
Everything the bus went past
looked half-alive and half-unsaid.
I drew one line with my finger
through the fog on the glass
and watched one drop
meet another drop
and both of them go past.
Some mornings felt longer in rain.
Not bad.
Just strange.
Like school was farther off
and the day had not decided yet
what kind it meant to be.