Petrichor

When it grows dark 

at four pm in June,

you know the show is going to be good-

you know you will eagerly await

that first drop, 

and the smell as it lands on

tarmac,

a handful of coins.

Something about summer rainfall

makes you feel things,

and it overwhelms you sometimes.

In this moment,

you think you remember how it feels

to be as cold as ice in winter,

but it's as far away as Saturn now,

as the ice melts in your drink

and your legs are glued to your chair.

When you go back outside

everything is washed clean,

the sun comes out again

like nothing ever happened - 

you wish the rain had made you

feel different, 

fed or cleansed.

Perhaps you just need to sleep,

you think,

as the late low sun glares right at you

from the wet road,

reflected

bright as a sheet of metal.