Woozy Sun
POETRY
Woozy sun blaring.
Sticky, sweaty, we lumber and trudge through the heavy air.
Limbs languid, movements slow.
A chorus of cicadas fills the stillness of the valley.
Puddles and trickles persist.
On a different axis, the river burgeons and gurgles.
Bones and ruins, branches and boulders cover the parched ground.
A preying mantis sways with slow, otherworldy grace.
In this dry, summer cathedral, thinking slows and presence blooms.
The animate world holds me tenderly.