we lived in one of those unending days

when the air clings to salt-beaded skin

and even umbral night cannot cleave

us from the heat.  lazy hours passed

like wishes on eyelashes, beautiful

to behold but so intangible –

and when we wearied of the sun

you threw up your umbrella

to cast us into man-made lethe.



forget the sun, you said.

for us, it will close its eyes.

(and it did)



and as you lounged in the soaking grass

with a skeleton of metal and cloth

held above like a saving grace,

I could only step out into the deluge

and let my footsteps wander the path

carved by raindrops, and wonder

why you would not dance.