New Poem: evaporation

When the pavement is iron on fire
and there is rain
steam comes off the road like breath
as though there was a great holding in
and the rain was permission
telling us to release.

I used to think that steam was ghosts
on the road, meant to scare us
or warn or just watch.
Ghosts of memory.

I see now that they are one in the same.
That breath, that release, that memory
that tricks and watches is the same.
One day that mist will part to reveal
a dance floor, and I will step out with
fancy shoes to take my turn.

To be driven through.


  1. Grammatical pet peeve: "One AND the same."

    Wonderful poem, though. :)


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