At its wilting zenith, Midsummer’s Day
exiting Cancer, the doorway to Capricorn
diffusing latitude, warping longitude
folds time, space and place
to a pillowed mass.
Pulsing air, nearer drug than bludgeon
soothes us with weighted seduction
as we lie on a carpet of trampled grasses
while a palisade of stalks draws the eye
to a vaulted view, linear
but in no sense limited.
A lark transmits. We receive, constrained
by language, but alert to the possibilities.
For the longest instant
we inhabit the province
between the once was
and the soon to be.
The pond, hugged by bullrush and marigold
so close but a galaxy away, for now
is a cooling temptation to be resisted.