Through the Sheet

Rain slicked the plastic sheet

draped over the patio chair.

It wasn't quite neat,

just a clear layer, hanging there.

The world beyond, a blurred green mass,

the fence posts, soft gray lines.

Water beaded, a sliding glass

of tiny, shifting designs.

It held the shape of the seat,

a ghost of what it covered,

and through its wet deceit,

the garden seemed hovered,

not real. A wet sheen,

a wavering, thin skin.

Making the familiar scene

something I couldn't quite take in.