Sediment

The air smells like rain on a hot city street,

the kind of damp cold that gets into your feet.

I tried to fix the walkway—I was being so good—

but the shovel slipped off the edge of the wood.

The slate didn't crack with a sharp, clean sound.

It just sort of surrendered and sank in the ground.

The edge is exposed now, all purple and raw,

like a piece of fresh liver, or a wet, heavy flaw.