I thought I smelled kudzu this morning.
Impossible.
I only know that smell
from the South.
Humidity gathered in the light.
Warmth rose from the ground.
Sunlight found the green things
and made them burgeon.
For one second
the city loosens its grip.
There were ditches full of vines.
There were roads disappearing under summer.
There was that bouquet
of wet earth and heat
and a country growing too fast
to be contained.
I stand there
with California around me,
certain of nothing
except the smell.
