The air is starting to gain water weight –
it sweats like a fat man there at the gate
and leaves hints of moisture with its warm touch;
under its heavy hand, it is too much
work to even sit outside until late.
Even then, as the night blooming flowers
unfold and release their sweet musk for hours,
the damp air is difficult to take in;
each slow breath is a labor to begin,
and seems to soon wilt and lose power.
And in the still dusk, for there is no wind,
the gathering dark seems to suck the light in
and blur all the streetlamps in heavy gauze;
even my cigarette smoke seems to pause
and hang there, dull and lifeless, at my chin.
But the night is alive with living things,
and from sundown to sunrise, the air sings
with whirring and chirping, whistles and croaks,
the Music of life from a thousand throats
and the rustle of countless tiny wings.
As the darkness settles like a thick sheet,
and beads of sweat form from my head to feet,
I slowly breathe in the fetid scent
and sit in silence, my energy spent;
Ode to summer! May your days be fleeting!
14 MAY 2003
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