His sky, his heat wave. His dust is everywhere, on the leaves, over the arc lamps. On the doorsteps people sit on drinking beer. They watch a jogger who doesn't belong there. The light turns green, and a car just sits and idles.
Someone's looking to get shot, they mutter.
A car horn blasts. His dams make the river run backward, make it rise and make it fall. Runoff and spillage. Islands of coal pushed by tugboats. He makes glass and iron, and he takes our cancers away.