A poem for July: Walk
The dusk smells like summer
bugs in the weeds
and I walk and walk hard against the
like a Chinese lantern while a
star picks up the night.
The heat’s still in the earth beneath my
shoes and another star picks up the
night while low wind’s breath rattles the
bugs in the weeds and I
walk and walk hard against the
thunderhead squatting on the river in a
swell of Chinese lantern light.
I smell summer rising in the
weeds and in the dirt beneath my
shoes as I go undetected
silent as an Osage hard after an
end to his trail.
And I walk
and walk hard as phantoms fly from the
understory, wings in my
hair, beating eternity with webs and
The dusk smells like summer, locusts, and
weeds, yet all that goes on in the busy
night does not chase the dark form coiled at
my heel and I walk and walk
hard until the thunderhead rains the
river and I’ll still not outlast the coiled
form laying prey for my contentment.
Copyright 2017 RC