The trees are sweating

and the flowers are thirsty.

My eyelids don’t want to cooperate.

Rocks seem to bend like water.

Minutes and hours are… sticky.

It’s a thumping pulse

of worry on a late July day.

the great green spine

wove through milky afternoons

spreading slowly

with creeping things

keeping time without a sound

but with feelers

a tender reach

stirring heavy summer air

basking in green

The explosion

was the gift

but it was so quiet,

nobody noticed.

Wind rolled over hills

and sun left shadows

resembling cypresses;

I felt a tingle

like third kisses

(when we knew what we were doing)

making me believe

what’s in my head

is fighting to get out

but an ever-present weight

spilled from my heart onto the road

and I passed right through

like a summer storm,

fast and hard.

Wings beat somewhere across the state

and my valley was overcome

by unholy winds

and scathing showers;

before sundown,

the dragonfly was lost

in the parking lot of the big box store

and I could only laugh

at the mechanics of worry.