Barometric

Weather comes, even to the city.   Leaves are rocketing down the alley. My coffeecup holds out     for rain, under a new leak. Filtered through packed

insulation, the water’s tea-colored.     If he comes now, so what? I’ve got an awkward bed, and we haven’t met. I’m waiting for his half   of my broken necklace,     his phobias like mine,       our codeword.

Lightbulbs pop as he goes by   in his blue static. I’ve heard buried weeds     leap through the pavement where his feet touch. Under pulsing lightning, petunias in the window   flap crazily open.