Paper soaked in rain
grabbing my suede as I run
garrapatas
up the stairs two at a time
one, two, three, four, here
I go without slipping on
my thoughts too much
incase with the rain
comes Consternation's lament
or some such regret
hanging as wet
turning white
This poem is highly visual to me as you count the stairs in soaked paper. Like Fay I find 'without slipping on my thoughts' a fine piece of imagery...