3885 (because summer is a distant memory right now)

.
the clothesline
swings
in a dry wind

and the echo of our voices
runs
down from the river
to where I stand
in yellow grass
eyes fixed
on a horizon swollen with blue

the river
where we’d swim
through the black gold of the water
rapids
gnashing teeth
and water dragons
nimble
as we give chase

how sharp the bite
of the sun
who we would
more
or
less
worship for the entire season
no sand too hot
no bike seat too hard
no hole too far
and nothing
nothing
coming
even close
to lasting long enough

2 thoughts on “3885 (because summer is a distant memory right now)

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