July

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The sun blazes strong already
Surging through the plantation shutters
Doves coo in the warm courtyard
A fly, a malcontent, buzzes around the still room.

It will be hot this day, scorching even
Leaves drooping like dog's tongues
Tar softened like brie, like the dough I use
to shape my mother's biscuits
Recipe on a yellowed note card, a relic
The tongue does not forget.

Algae blooms in the tranquil pond
Light green, golden delicious apple-like
Bullfrogs sound like plucked notes
String basses in deepest shade.
The air is a wet towel the sun
in its vast cruelty refuses to dry.

Imperious, the sun refuses to go in harness
Routine and relentless, it rides a chariot
With wheels of molten gold.

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