An Angled Rain

I lean upon a balcony during the storm and I am not rained upon.
My breaths come wetly
And I drink inhale or sigh
As the wind, as the others
I see huddling laughing, running tip-toed
and resignedly across new-found shores
waiting on streets doppled by too-heavy clouds.
Gods and calloused Saints they pass, those who walk more heavily,
happy for the slight tree cover
and for the wind not dampening their eyes.
It is cold now, colder than summer
and more jarring for being neighborly
with scant handfuls of cool breezes.
The nights are polite in their coldness
Tolerant so far of lingering upon balconies.
Though it is raining now. When I return inside
I am half wet with dry breaths.
So I change and I sleep seeing only local finite rainbows
Against the backdrop of patter and thunder
Like things in my sleep,
In gulfs pushing up and away from the curb
Reflecting a reflection of the light that will wake me,
Dancing like the others across and over the gathered pools.