Heat

Mercury climbing,
The shimmering silver hovering;
Thunderheads billow.

Red-winged blackbird
Sways from the top of a tall
Pampas grass frond, almost too heavy.

His shrill song rings out,
The crickets stridulate at dusk,
Cicadas whirring.

Our pace is slowed;
The heat is too much,
Eyelids close.

When long shadows come,
We will emerge,
And breathe in the cool air.

Kira Braun