No
mist here
Right
now, I’m after some shade.
The
birch leaves are already falling, spindling
themselves
in the too-warm air, scragging
themselves
on the still-green lawn, exhausted.
A smattering of yellow-hammer dahlias succour
bees, even as they wilt in thirty-two degrees
of belated summer. I find a lichen-blistered bench
shadowed
by upright English oaks doggedly
deepening
their green. A hint of breeze weaves
their
lobate leaves, initiates foliar conversations.
Tweety
birds dash themselves
against
the air above the wires.
All
else is silence.
The
cabbage gums stand, smile back
to
the sun even as they lay shade
over
this unseasonable heat,
even
as beauty burns away.
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