We did not have names

for the strike of

rain on fallen oak leaves

We did not have names

for the crystalline pond surface

shattered by droplets

I can put an emotion, a label

to the regret of a leaky boot

or the abrupt numbness of my hands

But I still cannot name

the breath caught in my lungs by

the stillness of a creek

swollen past the point of rushing

Thomas Vogt is an aspiring poet, photographer, and city planner in Sacramento, California. He enjoys capturing the ‘every day’ through a pen, a lens, or behind a mug at your local coffee shop.