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Heat

It’s going to be a hot day.
Wet cotton.
The air holds the damp
of a jungle night,
a mysterious heat
from the trumpet vines.
Summer here
scorches us more than the equator.
We are in the temperate zone
of weather,
like a region in the sea
holding back its storms
hiding in the calm.

I will sit under vegetating trees
and watch the children
play in the pool.
Watch mirages rise from
the pavement.
Wonder if the heat
is worse in Bangkok.
The steam of human sweat
denser in Thailand.
The heat will go away
with the first fronts
advancing from the north.
September flowering with thistles,
October with ubiquitous gold,
remembering the heat
as snow melts on my fingers.

Published inIndex of all Poems