summer

8 o’clock and the soft glow of sun on tree bark smears like wildflower honey, thrumming in the distance a train bellows small and almost a memory wading through the silence of waiting under the timid red sun that rests its belly on summer wind, faint and wavering, almost a mirage, almost a memory again, light and dark and dark and light in the woods now: sharp, leaping shouts beyond the trees, shooting up over battering bass music as pale limbs stretch in the purpling dark, saying, we have all night and life is young and the night is only a bird taking flight through grass and dew nestling against skin, through wet smell, new smell and they say, take it easy, look at the lights, look at the fireflies, look at the hush hush hush of wild-hearted summer