Cicadas
Chirping louder
And louder
Give way to the songs of a dozen nameless birds
The bug on your back
Is no more than the first beads of sweat
Sliding down the crease of your spine.
The sky baby blue
Clouds spread like cotton
Give no indication of scattered drizzles
But does the air
A blanket of moisture wraps around me
Closing me in
Looking down the surface of roads so flat
Dropping only to ditches and canals
What remains of Florida’s blood flow
Puddles around the attractions.
To drive from the sea
Beyond the first hills and easy places to spend money
Cut me with that crisp chilly air
Wrap me in wool and send me
Sliding wearily down the mountain
Heavy boots on wood cabin floors
Watching flakes from basement windows
Underground
Sipping your only warmth
