Daylight filters through a windowpane
Casting stencils on crumpled paper
Cobwebs glimmer taut and loose
Silken roads crisscrossing between grills
I look across and wonder
Listening to summer's fading dream
Leaves that once reached for clouds
Roll along the winding road
Coming to rest at mass graves
Do you too, feel too late
to feel most alive
sometimes, in an afternoon
sometime, in late July?
YOU ARE READING
Sometime in Late July
PoetryThere are days when the Sun is a stifling furnace flame and the birds keep you awake and the flies never seem to leave you alone. Then there are days when the wind lifts you off your feet and the birds dedicate their songs to you and the Sun in the...
