Summer is stale and lonely.
A fine dust caught in the air
And the corners of my mouth.
My eyelids are paper lanterns;
All I see is yellow.
And those chapped fields
That lay out under the high-noon sun,
They are stale and lonely too.
I want to peel off my skin;
It fits too tightly.
I want to raise my voice with the locusts,
Crying to our mother for rain
To dilute the earth.
But the sky is distant
An inverted ocean,
Refusing to fall.