the reflections in the window pane
of sunlight and rushing chrome
look
like
smoke
thin wisps
lick beneath parked cars
the world on fire
smoldering through charred concrete
tires begin to blister
the inciting muscle of sunlight
punches through to earth,
skin,
metal, and petroleum
screaming, gnashing, glaring chrome
awash like fountains
smears of bright
crushed smoke in window panes
all along the block
where people with nothing much
but a pair of eyes
and ears
and a place to sit with coffee
people like you
and me
give the smallest
very small
moment
its due.