Time to clean up, time to close up. It's raining drops and the petals drops carry. Any second the ocean is going to sweep down my street like a sweet breeze. On the floating pieces of my dismantled household I'll be washed downhill and out to sea, drift south and hope the couch I'm riding grows wheels to carry me inland.
Inside it's dark like the power was already off. The low clouds block out the sun, a blanket over my head where I am hiding while I still can. And the streets whisper, shush, shush.
They say everything is bigger there, no thin and wan ghosts of the sort who wander the streets here survive. But I'm going to be smaller, once I dry out. What used to be a home I've shaved down to a storage unit. Halved my regal wardrobe, sold what was too big to get my arms around. By the time the waves carrying me out erode me down to what I'm left with I'll be person-sized again. I'm scared that I've surrendered too much. That the current may just pull me down.
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