The heat sweeps by her feet in waves so fast,
it catches the movement at the edge of her eyes

Over her, sprint the shadows of invisible geckos
Tracking wind storms through her imagination
Leaving wispy trails of effervescence like sweat 
against the outside of a glass door

Around another watery bend
And a brick fountain
Glowing in the afternoon neon storm
Whose mirrored surface reflects the bursts of wild forests 
rising like zeniths from the piles of despondent trash
Flung in an urban snarl

And above her, beads cast down as glistening drops 
Between the uniforms of towering silver 
and changing black, gray-swirling whiteness

And this heat
Cloying, soft and plush

She's cored inside out and twisted into waves so tangled
Whitewashed from the backs of worn, tired souls
And mute
And she's drowned by the cicadas who waltz and snap
while something heavy grows.