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With air still, heated, hot, scorching
lungs struggle
to expand,
fully with breath.
The path is without shade.
It is stale and stretches long.
Moving coolness is necessary
to release the trapped sensation
of heat and stillness that grip my skin and muscle.
Panic begins its appearance
in this adaptation of drowning.
I stand taller, stretching
as if cold air rises, not heated,
and inhaling full fresh air will come with more height.
Through oppressive heat
the marvel of manmade chill
is close,
as I approach my wheeled
and steel horse.
Unlocked.
Entered.
Skin it sticks to leathered seats.
Key engaged.
Knobs, I quickly touch
as their temperatures too have risen.
I receive a full face of dusty searing; heat, from this idle horse, is the first to touch the skin.
With time,
cold air is blowing stiffly.
Fans aim sublime wind
towards my arms, neck.
Heat rises off my skin,
with sweat evaporating.
Water drops on skin
do not hold the strength they did.
Each withers as a dying pond.
I’ve seen through the dry suffocation.
I can now breathe.
Mary Jane's Shoes 