A Simpler Season

The months become dry,

not enough seconds spent

whispering your name.

In the heat of early July

rosebuds break apart

at the sound of my barefoot steps

on the back porch cherrywood.

Watering can spilling over,

sherry stains on gray linen.

Days stretch over weeks

that blur the months;

these are the dog days.

Laying on cotton sheets

past noon, only to dance

in the sudden thunderstorm

that breaks apart

the light in the sky.