the nights are fevered;
clothes are amongst the blankets;
the weight of the sun is laid on shoulders;
ripened fruit drips with water,
just as sweat drips down backs under shirts;
the coals and wood are burning and scattering ashes like dandelions;
while the smoke is dancing with fireworks in orange sunsets.

each day is slow and languid;
the seconds are running by without thank;
feet dip into pools as helplessly as brushes dip into paint;
the tennis ball hits the ground late;

and the phone never rings.