Last Remainder

Eleventh in a series of rain poems. Just a few more and we're at the end. Promise.

Photo by Simon Kuznetsov on Unsplash

The skittering and scattering of water pearls popping
against my eardrums like the legs of a spider weaving
a tomb for its next meal remind me of air-grace steps
from my friends gliding on concrete as we played ‘it’ 
and ‘tag’—their faces smoke choked and dilapidated
by failing memory, but my expression I know was one…