Summer hot

 

Summer hot has come.

The earth begins to bake.

The sky is bright blue,

the clouds puffed up

and far between.

The sun is behind it all,

or else above it all,

depending on one’s perspective.

A fusion fire so far away,

the blazing radiant heat

barely trickles out

as far as our little spot.

Yet I walk on mostly frying pan sidewalks,

the trees left distilling chlorophyll in sun 

shade some of me.

I will have to pour down

rivers of ice water to replenish

all that has transpired.

Watchful vultures circle on updrafts -

invisible smoke and mirrors.

The hot wind blows in my ears.

The burning sun is shattered

into sparks and shards

against the reflecting water glass

and is not quenched.

I squint.

But my skin is indeed the organ

of receptivity -

summer hot licks my salt.

I will not quarrel if it is

the heat or the humidity.

But I will bow down my head,

my body wilting,

and pray for the night to come.

And then I will raise my head again

to welcome the summer hot day.