The Grate's Breath

The air was sharp, a sting in the nose,

but from the street, a grimy warmth arose.

I stepped across the iron plate,

a circle of rust, sealed by fate.

And from its seams, a steam did coil,

smelling of damp and city soil,

of deep pipes running, dark and cold,

a story the pavement never told.

It breathes a slow and heavy sigh,

a secret passage for the sky

to touch the workings, deep and low,

where unseen currents ebb and flow.

I walked on by, but felt the heat,

the hidden heart beneath my feet.