Late July

The sky drips a sultry haze
Of dusty blues and purple-grays
The land succumbs to its caress
With pregnant field and willow-tress

The garden spills forth rampant bloom
A tangled, blissful living room
A haven to which I can flee
When little conflicts torment me

Hands touch the soil and pluck the weed
Fingers brush the fruited seed
Lips part wide to taste its fare
The wealth of earth, so pure and rare

I will not heed the scolding tune
To guilt me of one afternoon
Beneath the sweltering, sensuous sky
And the murmur of July

August hovers in the swell
Of tasseled corn and muffled knell
Where tumbled summer days collide
On a hazy, crazy ride

A blanket folds across the sky
To pull a lid over July
Shafts of dusk and muted day
Brush the swaths of fresh-mown hay

The silver trilling of the eve
Stirs my soul, willing to grieve
The dissonance of summer’s sigh
In the fading of July

Janet~