#119: August 20, 2006

The color starts to drain out of the sky
and charcoal fires incense the evening breeze.
Mosquitoes buzz like bombers going by;
Cicadas thrum like heartbeats in the trees.

Ground spiders now sleep in their dusty holes
and birds have settled in for evening rest
while thunder, like an empty promise, rolls
off the tongue of shadowed clouds far to the west.

A stifling August night in Arkansas:
box fans and beer our momentary reprieves
from sweat-soaked sheets that rub our sunburns raw.
The wind here barely stirs the paper leaves.

The crickets' chorus hails the deepening night
while bats wheel, bank, and murder in their flight.