Under Another's Umbrella

in bed before i wake
i feel my hair like thread,
a doll's scalp
reminded of limited
ill time

in head, hair like death,
moribund-bunched
circle semi-conscious
legs shake
soaked already.

the words remembered
and held close to
heart and flight
keep us from the angular rain
coming down like
broken ghost nets.

the one with free hands
paces outside of
the umbrella's read and reach
the underside condenses
with the heat from the plastic
signals of dread vigour

the downpour withstandable
a shirt gets a bit wet
the under-umbrella
lays the law
don't forget

and the lost property office
not only holds deleted data
neither the words or noise
that didn't make recall
but copies of books in unlibraried stacks
and packaging instructions washed
in the mulch
and umbrellas meaning to keep them dry
legal and legible.

under shelter the umbrella
is snapped back and clipped.
the felt dog here shimmies
and wrings like a good doubter.
a sideways rain, gets you every time.