hot, hot sun, golds and yellows,
sky like a tranquil lake,

in the cave-like hollows of the wood,
the smooth leaves glide,

shadows, falling like dark water,
cooled by a wanton breeze,

sink like a gentle flow of air
woven out of breathing silk and the

dim space that catches its breath -
collides with the sun –

hangs dampened branches out to dry.