by Gideon Burton
Obligingly the water reeds will comb
The pale humidity until its strands
Condense along the brows of sable loam
That edge the river with their crumbling hands.
The sluices of the summer sky break loose
A cauldron’s heavy honey, thickened light
That ropes along the shoreline with its ooze
Of radiation, bruising, brazen, bright.
I walk along the cottonwooded trail
That makes a blind, a copse, a hidden place
Beside the restless water. Will it fail
To keep me sheltered? Will it dim my face?
Deep summer waxes, melting to the wick;
The water answers, cool and thinly thick.
Feel free to copy, imitate, remix, or redistribute this poem as long as you give proper acknowledgment of authorship. Photo: flickr - Matt.Hintsa