Tanned September
l.
It is September, acrid and tanned:
eastern winds grow quite heavy
brushing the mountaintops
with deepened tints of rosette;
and my flesh bakes in the sun
while laying on fevered grass.
ll.
Nightfall drifts along, sweltering...
till an oriole drifts low;
perched on redwood twigs
warbling a cool birdsong, alone
that in the middle of its refrain,
I find comfort in this dreadful heat.
Contest 214 sponsored by Brian Strand
Repost 10/1/2016
Copyright © Nette Onclaud | Year Posted 2015
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