Worth Falling Into

Placatingly bare, Sallow rain falls below knees And dirties the arid porcelain That chaps and blisters toes. Simmered pores and closing doors, inside: Steam that won’t rise, Held in jars on a grainy, pre-lucid shelf. Hopeful: dig through to a field Worth falling into, blades Undimmed and bugs That still crawl. But: concrete meets Nails, and jars Explode. Air is liquid rot; Breath is for The drain.