Dog Day Siesta – by Paul Fisher
Tepid dawn could not foretell
this air as thick as water,
this cannonball barrage of sun
stripping blond sky bare.
We pray for rain, imagine eclipse,
resign ourselves to half-lit dreams
where trumpet vine and ostrich fern
entangle us with shadow.
We submerge our sorrow
in untroubled ponds, cool our fear
in blue lagoons, and swallow the fire
of double-edged tongues.
We audition for the quietude
of atom, stone and star,
mute our horns, silence our drums,
and sleep like tired children,
our ears cocked toward the moon.. Siesta