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.
Copyright © Sorrel Alii | Year Posted 2021
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