Rainfruit/Kulnara

The cement never fully sets. Its

Wet, still,

At its core—

A fine dancing mesh, resonant and bubbling.

Outgassing.

How many feet can it take? How many seconds?

It vibrates, in the aftertempos,

In the aftermorning leafcrunch,

In the outgassing, in the air breathed in, tonight.

We put detectors on our ankles,

Asking — gasping — for the gasses

That seep from the concrete basements.

From the sublimation, from the sublime,

The vaportrails whispered into the steel beams and rotting rugs.

They go off, the detectors,

Too loud to hear—

A long high ringing,

Always there around our ankles.

Their singing is a melting, an infusing,

An outgassing,

A fine dancing mesh.

In the middle,

In the middle,

In the long edges that pull ourselves up again

A lake refilling and overflowing and retreating to its center,

A fine dancing mesh