Yawn

[rejectomorph]

Severe oversleeping devoured about three hours of the afternoon. The shadows are thus farther on than I want them to be. Bluejay squawks and warm air will last a couple more hours, and then night again. I suddenly recall that we are less than two weeks from the equinox. This is no time of year for oversleeping. This is the time of year I forgive summer its past excesses and settle in to enjoy its final days. Coasting downhill now, slight evening breeze reminds me of the rush of cooling air to come.




Sunday Verse

What to Think of

by Mark Strand



Think of the jungle,
The green steam rising.

It is yours.
You are the prince of Paraguay.

Your minions kneel
Deep in the shade of giant leaves

While you drive by
Benevolent as gold.

They kiss the air
That moments before

Swept over your skin,
And rise only after you've passed.

Think of yourself, almost a god,
Your hair on fire,

The bellows of your heart pumping.
Think of the bats

Rushing out of their caves
Like a dark wind to greet you;

Of the vast nocturnal cities
Of lightning bugs

Floating down
From Minas Gerais;

Of the coral snakes;
Of the crimson birds

With emerald beaks;
Of the tons and tons of morpho butterflies

Filling the air
Like the cold confetti of paradise.