Walking home. A melancholic afternoon.

The weather said
it was supposed
to rain.
It didn't.
(I don't think,
anyway)
But the clouds
pressed down
and left,
the concrete imprinted
with their heaviness.

The edges are evaporating
though.
And
the ground is just warm enough
because those vapors smell
like urban spring--
the concrete washed and (almost) clean.