Dissolve

The kid outside the station door

is trying to be a ghost.

He puffs a cloud at the dirty floor,

leaning on a parking post.

He wants a circle, tight and gray,

the way my uncle used to do.

A perfect hoop that sailed away

before the winter wind broke through.

I stand and watch the vapor thin,

shivering in my unzipped coat.

A hollow shape of what has been,

caught inside a freezing throat.