Rain After Heat
I like the smell
of rain steaming
from warm asphalt
and the cool wash
of it on my face,
to be a part
of that sweet soak
and splash of wet
running down my neck
and the earth alive
and clumped with wakes
of mulch and leaves laden
with the weight of rainwater
spilling into an evening.
I could lay there
beneath that falling height,
as would an exhausted swimmer,
to let the self sink
and feel the moment
ripple out to the edges
of the absolute.
Copyright © Paul Willason | Year Posted 2022
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