Heat Wave
The Hedgerow birds are wilting;
and even the circling hark
gives them no alarm.
The hot irons of the sun
are smelting bones.
This listless stupor
threatens to unwind the mainsprings
of joy.
Birds do not believe in weather,
each moment for them is a picture
in a gallery of extinctual reactions.
In the throes of a heat-wave,
only humans
have feelings of discomfort
know it and question it,
think of it as a pleasure or a curse.
Animals have more faith
in the next moment,
and the next, then the next.
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