there is a chill in the humid air
that does not spell relief
as the dogs across the street
try in vain to bark their fleas away
the rapid shotgun shelling
of the tin roofed yellow garage
has once again begun in earnest
beneath the fruited walnut tree
rippling and ruined, the surface
of the once black-topped driveway
rife with long road map crevices
where seeds dream in winter, waits
battered, sodden and swollen fences
bulge and undulate the landscape
more idea than matter, their mere semblance,
containing the minds of horses into fields
pent firecracker, black-mouthed squirrel's
swift tail-twitching, rigid bodies explode
as they fling themselves from branch to branch
in a fury of falling brittle twigs and leaves
pond surfaces swirl, vague, from center still-points
nameless small and floating crushed things
water, wind stirred with ragweed pollen when
captured by their rocky rims bears a bitter stink
this season of crest and crescendo flares
from summer's swelled to bursting seedpods
with a slow motion popping sound, that
swimming in dank humidity, rings dully in my ears
the space between heartbeats is taken up with
unrequited reckoning, unanswered letters
that though bittersweet, are not embittered
like the battered yet unbroken wings of butterflies
the earth cries chemical tears through our animal eyes,
emotion, trying to scratch an itch it can't quite reach
I feel it in the subtle goose-bump tingling and sorrowful joy
living just beneath the surface of my multi-layered skin…
lucy meskill
