Isolated shower

by Mary Wescott

The lights go out in the office mid-afternoon.
Outside the open window,
Air strangely freshened by travel
Hits the street slick.
Shuddering elms blow green and glow.

A typist – hair blown wild, hips leaning
Against the marble sill – 
Breathes five stories of visiting heaven
Into each of skin’s almost infinite pores.