Summer Will Come

Out there beyond the walls of this Saturday

morning ramshackle a river flows.

Gravity keeps to the river’s quiet

flow-shimmer.  This summer I’ll take

my wife to Surfside next to the Missouri

river and throw chicken bones to the

fish, giant river fish mealy mouthed

slime skulled at the river’s edge mouthing

at chicken remains.

Feverish.  Summer mad muck.  Curious

fly swarms over mud moss and

deep stench of life and death, transition

of gravity pushing the moisture down into

the ground cracks and mist expelling to

the permanent blue sky, cirrus clouds

grazing high above sparrows

wings and jet streams.

Summer will come as a shimmer wall

of heat lumbering heavy stumble step across

the continent, twill bake up the highways

and San Antonio will shimmer once

again as it did eight years ago in its

liquid perfect distance and bent

over heads of palm trees, a city

choked in pulpy green vines.

I remember all those summer heats

and basement pitfalls, seasons where

it seemed the walls could sweat.  

perhaps the memory flows out like that

river, adds to the oceans and seas

lost in the secret reason, the grandiose

secret experiment of water and gravity

and no-blink sunshine, summer comes

and will storm every day end in thunder

claps and lightning strobes.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

(March 29th, 2014)