while the sun of summer teeters on the cusp of cooler weather, something taps on the edge of my brain as if to say here you ought to take a few minutes to read a book or close your eyes, quiet the perennial pounding in your heart; not even swing or make any motion at all, just lie in this shallow suspended bowl since after all we have to get up until we can't.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.