The Ecphorizer

A walk up the dry
road on a plump gray day and
sure as hell necessity's downpour
let us have the cold
possibility right
in the mind's wrong eye. We run
back down, score an infinite
zero on the absolute
chance we'd make high dry's
contingency list, seeded
an already saturated impossibility
cloud, left ourselves wet
as a running fat chance in a slim
universe standing necessary-still,
dripping dry by the fire,
fat with small chance.