Plain Summer (poem)

Plain Summer

An open breeze lifts the curtains
of the sun-soaked kitchen
dirtied with evening plates
out the window, wanting to escape
into the field of poppies
raising scarlet with the sunset—

They whisper plain as day
of secret loves hidden under roots
sprung back in April, like violets
the color of your dress catching wind
for a summer waiting to be promised,
soon to be fulfilled.

It is the heat of all things
that drive you to fervent ecstasy
in July—not even hammocks
tied between sky and earth
could tie down your wildness
brown like soil, natural and timeless…

…and under all that blue in the air
rests the green of your eyes
looking West, the yellow of your hair
catching drift of a migration
soon to happen to the city, where dreams
make you forget home in remembrance.

— The Finicky Cynic

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