Cement Scrying

My feet float
over the dark edge
of the roof. I press
heels into the vast
space below.
I don the clouds
as capes, fuse
my hands to smoke.
I want to know
where the night ends:
to slip off sidewalks
into what—or who—
is waiting below.
Not even time’s elegy
rhymes with this:
the letters I smash
between my fingers,
thick as monologue.