Hazy

Without much fanfare,
Tuesday looms again,
with its prickly heat and
a threat of hazy horizons.

There are days missing
from memory and it’s like…
well, if I can recall my first plum,
I could explain a galaxy, right?

She wished he’d bring her
a wagon of flowers and maybe
some sweet bread as well as
enough kisses to fill the void.

The thoughts are coming,
sticky and slow like fresh tar,
way below the circling hawk,
his message barely a whisper.