Burning  [summer] 

cicada shells death-rattle 

in the thinnest thread 

of breath, stitching moment 

to frayed moment. 

splinters of light pull 

from the sky, parch 

a shroud of spider’s web. 

you are the sun 

and I am the earth 

wandering in your 

wide-eyed path. 

air crackles lungs 

like water in a dry stem. 

salt is always on the tongue. 

veins are vaults 

where pain seeps in, 

oak leaves breathless 

in this hard season 

of new and dying. 

the echo leaves the well 

in crumbles. 

i drink too much 

of your fire, you scorch 

my tears to nothing.

words in our mouths 

are like dust 

in the lily’s throat. 

our eyes are clouds 

locked heavy in the heat, 

ready to drop the storm.