I can feel how it must be
when mist meets windshield.
The delicate molecules expand
without heat, die into the body of rain,
or collect transparent as scales on the glass
until a catastrophe stirs them again,
yet wrecked or monumental they never leave
the civilizations of water.
I can explode or I can wait, though
the motion to come is a mystery.
My mind is just flames, but the rest of me
is brave mist or trees full of smoke,
and I will become clear soon
because I insist.