Fusion
In the sizzling heat
She wears new a furry mink
The sly little fox
Now its brimming cold
He dared bare himself of skin
The wily serpent
And what racket here
The cricket makes through the night
The bats cannot hear.
The rain is singing
The roof plays her pop songs sweet
Clouds dance on the street
A little black boy
Playing upon the blind rock
A trope for lost joy
Naked on the sand
No season tells tropic time
The sun milks the hand.
The eye milks the sun
For gold leaves waiting to fall
No fruits on bare limbs.
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