There was rain last night and I did not see
but it was recent and deep and
the runoffs were still flowing
past the bus stop curb cut
and through the cracks in the brick
to the subway stair.
The train costs fifty five cents more this month,
the bus is waiting and the season is not done.
The earlier people who have kept their plans
are walking down in their regiments
crisp and fifty five cents well prepared
for this morning’s journey to the underworlds.
But there was rain last night,
there are rivers on all paths,
and the boatman is not yet here.