i.

the sun burns the grass and the ferns,
they melt under a bright sky,
roughening, like the tongue of a cat,
the grass with its brown sandpapers.

ii.

the flowers pray for me and my
watering can, on a dirt track
the water splashes and the earth
drinks deep, the trees shiver
at the thought of water, their
branches sway, this is to dance -
leaves with patterns scattering -
leafy shade and pools of bright
sun.

iii.

drawn out of the air a drawbridge
of breeze raising its portcullis and
suddenly the heat is bearable,
shadows and sun like a patchwork
quilt.

iv.

we wait for summer, tender-eyed,
smouldering in the heat, the trees
like colossal statues of bronze
stretching branches beneath the canopy
of a green sea in a dream spun
from ebony.

v.

i kiss you, grazed by this
orient sun, my heart
seeking yours, my
legs longing for your legs,
my limbs threading
with yours
while summer
sings of her forgotten
ghosts.

The early bright chased away shadows in its slow rising scintillant song.  Very little stars were left in the sky.. The purples and oranges that painted the sky soon turned into atomoshere blue.  The dawn-to-dark song was in full bloom..  The lyrics sung about colors the light of the day would award my deep brown eyes. Some of them also spoke of the coming nighttide that was well on its way to catch us all.   On eventide I walk up to the hills.. The night slowly makes love to the day and lays her down to sleep..  There I begin to count the stars.. Until there are to many to count..  As there is no moon to shine down on my star parade I clearly see the vault of heaven in all its beautiful cosmic glory.. The night is in full bloom........

Tumbling down mountains
through long and sharp grass,
I find
that the dew I’ve gathered
is of little consequence
to the stars
I’ve pondered
above.

Yet I still find myself
glancing skyward
as I gather speed,
wondering
if they’re
watching
and hoping
I might catch
their eye.

i remember
rainy days
spent gazing
out of cold
windows
we'd race
raindrops
with our
fingertips
breath misting
the glass
creating
swirling
inner worlds
of hidden
messages
and signs
we were young
enough then
to remember
how to sing the
melody of rain
and understand
its secret language
of ebb and flow
in an echo of time
ageless and pure
in its sincerity

~~~~~~~~~~~~