Is this rain, or sleet, or miniature
hail—this life becomes
a wintry mix. No plot, no narrative, this is

continuous till
it ends. But it doesn’t stop

there. She slips on a Howard Ben Tré
sidewalk glass
eye and falls. Waiting

for a bruise to form
on her upper right

thigh, she seeks
comfort in the purchase
of a sky

blue button-down shirt.
On her way home, she walks slowly

around the offending
eye. Accumulation answers
the question no one really asked.