in the sticky summer months
the daylight smells like burning sand
hot air blows over the green creeks
where the flies are born
and the little squirrels leap
from limb to limb
dead dogs lie asleep
on the warm black highway roads
and when the fire of the sun settles down to dusk
the moths bounce against porch lights
so the crickets can sing all night long
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 5:37 PM UTC
in the sticky summer months
the daylight smells like burning sand
hot air blows over the green creeks
where the flies are born
and the little squirrels leap
from limb to limb
dead dogs lie asleep
on the warm black highway roads
and when the fire of the sun settles down to dusk
the moths bounce against porch lights
so the crickets can sing all night long
