My neighbor is
Hanging clothes
In the Ferndale fog,
Praying for sun.

Covered in sweats
And an overcoat,
Complete with hoodie,
Hope springs eternal.

She wanders upstairs
Into her elder Victorian,
Looking intent as a bug
Nestling into detritus.

Condemned to death
By arrested evaporation,
The clothes just hang there
Screaming, what the Hell?