I saw the
rain-soaked city through
splattered bus windows on my ride
home from work.

I had not been able to
tell from the ground
whether
the flat sky extended far
above the buildings or
wreathed their peaks
with
garlands of mist, but
here on the Tobin Bridge, high above
the Charles River and
most of Boston, I saw the
needy clouds smother
rooftops and
the tips of cranes.

All that diffused
light blunted the
rich red Chelsea brick
and robbed the streets of their
rough dignity
by mixing
the elegant and the disposable
like
pearls and plastic stuffed in a thief's sack.