Outflow

The trash bag’s heavy in my grip,

the driveway’s slick with sudden ice.

I feel my boot begin to slip,

and catch my breath and hold it twice.

Across the fence, the dryer vent

is breathing out a cloud of heat.

A floral, humid, heavy scent

that drifts into the frozen street.

A clump of lint, a ghostly blue,

is stuck against a weed that’s dead.

The world is gray and split in two,

between the cold and what’s ahead.