“Late Summer” – a poem

summer

wraps my face in a warm cloth

opens my pores and lets the air beneath my skin.

it sends the coded cries of cicadas

burrowing into my brain

making me dream of rich late summer evenings

where fireflies dance in splendor.

summer, where all things are gilded

in the early evenings,

where decrepit, long-lost homes are

splendid mansions and rusted chain-link fences

are antique silver lace

a photographic dream.

Advertisements

2 Comments

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s