May Showers

Sometimes I think of inconsequential stuff
Of walks through rain-laced streets
Of shared umbrellas, a plate of puchkas
Afternoon solaces anew.
Sometimes I think of you.

I play a bubble game of 'what-if'
With cloaks on glaring parts
And weave my way to a favourite end
Regret threatens to spill.
Then I let it drift apart.

Life goes on in many measures
And while rainy evenings turn to night,
This game I find hard to outgrow.
Wishing that it was meant to be
To know that it is so.