Under the Box Bush

The scent of wisteria is heavy In the humid, impenetrable midsummer heat And I think of home. Comforting is the Tepid grass beneath my feet, and I see Nothing but the vastness of the sky- it's maddening How that great blueness threatens to Swallow me. All things that surround my waking hours Seem like honey in the gamely arms of That boxed bush, overgrown and uncaring and Surrounded by tiny blooms. They fall Onto my shirt where I am destined to Find them hours minutes before my dreams.