Humidity

Little world, your afternoons
are losing their edge, wallowing
off in the wheat of long siestas.
How like hallucination, the way
the sun falls on my flaws.
I can’t keep up, trundling down
the moving sidewalk of lawns,
mown beyond comprehension.
The handrail sings; conundrums
come out to tango at random.

Sweet little lack of crispness –
paradise may be built in a day
but the rest takes time. Console
yourself: at least the trees
put up their parasols; at least
the orchards you wear as hair
surrender those damn apples.
World, I forgive the lack of focus.
I know the knob of sun will turn;
even here, I trust clarity
to honor our appointment.

from Pebble Lake Review