A woman sat unbuckled, and
through her window flew the sun
          from the edge of the steel wing.

          Wind exhales into these emptied streets,
          disturbing heaps of fallen leaves.

She cupped her hands about her
abdomen, as if she held the living
          Earth turning underneath her.

          Heavy clouds consume the sky, then
          shower their burdens against the ground.

Her fingers, naked, met and laced
while her head turned to the vacant space
          beside her, salty-eyed.

          Runnels of water trickle like veins
          down the face of a wide, stretching road.

Her lips then pulled apart a smile
when underneath, the Earth took shape,
          drew close, and then there was a kick.

          From a tarmac crack where sluice leaks,
          a sapling hyacinth peeks up.