the gigans: viii.

as for the earth in the thick of summer, it forgets its song.
the ground grows deeper everyday. the sun seeks out

its furthest reaches while ants, single file, consume
each word we say. what of my face do you imagine keeping?
not even your eyes can resist a memory’s damp seduction,

some radiant lust that vines the season you remember.
how long ago? green carpeting, knees rubbed raw,

light filtered into pink squares patterned
on the boarding room ceiling.

my shoulder, and then my knee. your steeled breath.
this yellow lawn confirms the earth’s forgotten song.

some radiant longing that raises every vein, first
your temple throbbing year after year, then the forehead,
its blue-pulsed release of some quieted need.

oh, but the earth’s surrender to the sun’s seared conviction.
oh, but the scorched grass, the relentless and prying heat.