it’s raining, always raining,
and I’ve already had too much wine.
the cactus on my desk is dead,
but I won’t throw it out,
nor the empty stapler
whose refills are no longer made,
nor the fifteen-dollar watch —
always 6 seconds fast.
it’s what connects me
to a bygone world,
lazy Sunday morning dreams
of children’s laughter,
just one more game
of hide-and-seek,
where the cactus blossoms
without rain.