The parking garage
is a concrete gorge I circle
looking for a place to rest
my car, my rockstubborn body
that won’t burn up on entry.

It’s like being a comet
—orbiting—and the trajectory
sucks (all that speed, nowhere soft
to land). Your only options: to hit
some planet at random
or let the sun have you.

After, I sit in the car a while
with the engine low and let
the cold pass through me,
through the window.