Notes from the Smog Line
The ridge turns amber in the late-day heat,
Above the heavy haze that wraps the town;
A quiet boundary where valleys meet,
Before the smog descends to wear its crown.
High up the slope, a breath of cooler air
Holds back the shadow drifting from the west;
While engine fumes beneath the sunlit glare
Sink down like water in a basin’s chest.
Yet on this ledge, where poison meets the pine,
A sudden sharpness gathers in the light;
The eye marks out the strict, dividing line
That separates the sulfur from the night.
Above the soot, the sky stays clean and blue,
And lets the world beyond come shining through.
October 2026