Heat Quiet

The birds have gone and the air sizzles

with quiet, a vacuum turning stone

to putty and leaves to woeful rags.

 

We cower indoors except for workers

still fixing, tending, installing

our air, our artificial artiface

 

to the world, cool and temperate,

a hum of breath bringing cool.

No other sound dares poke through

 

our thoughts, cocooned as we are

from an outside through which

we cannot walk. A wind picks

 

its time randomly, intruding

on our motionless stasis.

Even the lizards hide.

 

Copyrighted by the author

 

 

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