reading people talk
about thunderstorms
in some distant city
I've never been to
but would perhaps
visit someday. Imagine LA:

cicadas snapping
through the night
like stepping on spilled fried
potato peels. the sun
on a highway overpass
and burning pavements white.

I imagine things there
better than anywhere
except perhaps
New York – long roads
past busy corners;
carparks surrounded
by plumbed apartments.
people over shops – the light
a neon flower petal

and the shape of clouds
briefly becoming visible
in a sound like a pair
of shoes down a staircase.
the need to be outside. rain.
the need for anything.