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Description
The skies are still and oppressive today,
all hot and bothered with birds, sans clouds
and I am indolent here where I lay,
swathed and bound in warmth and summer shroud.
The heat makes phantoms of the heaving air,
shimmering undulations, distorting
in currents the sky and white-blinding glare
of sun glow. Today is made for hoping
(against season, against nightfall, against
chill) for sanguinity indefinite,
the thrill of optimism, manifest
in melting time and west horizons lit
with late-coming sunset, fiery at nine;
hoping to have always this summer of mine.