Summer View From The Porch

Beyond where the black top ends, and hawks

rise thermal up the skies, as dust

is deviled by the wind–

a hound, right ear thumped twice behind

by paw, sniffs up the passing breeze

and flaps his ear against a fly–

horizons melt as locusts sing

to windmill’s croaking counterpoint.

You lift a glass of tea.

Ice chinks as condensation drips

like tears that soon evaporate,

and patiently you strive

to reason out how this is good

(while glass is to the forehead pressed)

but nothing comes to mind.

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