The steam has finally quit

The steam has finally quit.

The kettle is a cold, silver weight

on the burner that is still ticking

as the metal cools down.

Somewhere, three streets over,

a dog is shouting at a fence.

Here, we are just breathing,

watching the heat turn to water.

A single drop is heavy now.

It breaks and runs a crooked line

down the glass of the window,

leaving a clear, wet track.