bright in the stillness
the last
hot days of summer, trapped
like flies in melting amber by the suns rays

they shone like the hosts of Heaven
come down to immortal battle
beaten back, sometimes
by cool water and
dripping blue Popsicles

the rains did not come
not yet
but hovered in the sky, wisps of cloud
that promised, though
never delivered
release from the dry air the grass was once emerald green
shining with dew
now, it is brown and prickly
cutting at calloused bare soles

running, the colt-like boys
all loose pants, no shirts
laughed through those last immortal weeks
before the cold would come again
and send them inside
away from the cornflower sky

(these were the last
hot days of summer, trapped
in a web of dry air
and lilting voices as the wind sighed
through the poplar trees
and brought the rain.)