Heat-thick
air and the scent of
mown grass
As
an old man trims golf-course lines into his
lawn.
lawn.
A
lone heron over the dry-grass slough,
One
circling black dot just above the vivid divide
Between treeline and sky.
Dust-motes
hang in the becalmed air,
Drifting
among heatlines rising
Off
the neighbor's tin roof.
Save
for the insects, nature is silent.
