Every summer about July or August
I imagine a cold, steady rain
on a winter’s night
The watery glare of a corner street light
gives the appearance
of an impressionist painting
The cold pavement of the street
shines as if drying from a coat of varnish
I yearn for the sight of steam
rising from my breath
A hat on my head
and my coat collar up around my ears
Uncomfortable enough to require a brisk pace
to warm the slight chill in my bones