Level

Leveling off --

Self hydroplanes

in the gutter.

The sound of it

is like the welcoming of Death;

Rain.  Gentle acceptance.

Umbrella cocoon,

I have my headphones on;

Metaphysical puddle

Behind my eyes --

While rhythm guides

Gliding steps

And eager ears.

Time is neither fast nor slow.

It drags, though,

Like an anchor on the sand --

Refusing to catch.

When the Sun comes back,

The Rain can’t help but dry,

And my ego can’t help evaporating.

Reviews

[Bennett Logan]

I really dig the hyper-awareness of this poem. It moves slowly but pays attention to every single relevant detail as one would in a moment of panic or danger—hydroplaning. Only in this case, your narrator is calmly and safely walking in the rain. It reminds me of one of those incredible moments where you're in the middle of some mundane activity, but then suddenly blindsided with some grand realization or epiphany. And for just that second or two, you have a real and tangible sense of enlightenment. The language and imagery you use lend themselves to a certain sense of melancholy, which also makes everything seem delayed and blue. Really really good stuff, Lydia! For real.