When Chalk Melts

Chalk lines blur into rain like blurred voices,

a messy confession washed into the cracks.

The kids’ wild shapes dissolve—

circles and letters dissolve to liquid light,

colors run like small rivers

too soft to hold anything.

I watch the puddles swallow their afternoon,

waiting for the sun to try and claim it back,

but the wet pavement keeps the secrets now,

more permanent than white dust.