Humidity clings to skin like oil
Trees blur, a line drawn across a blank page
A sea of charcoal grey birds, await the future
The day grows old, each flies off, to elude the heat.
They are trapped with no escape from the inevitable sun.
My moss green shirt soaks with sweat.
Memories flash, lightning strike that pierces the dark sky.
Saltiness grows on my thin grey lips,
Hands rest on my lap, turning deeper olive in the sun
Aged by the heat
My mind retreats,
Resting upon the rough chair, the slow creak keeps me awake,
Stirred by a distant laugh
A child dips his frail hand into the cool water,
He runs towards his pirate ship
As it lay still in the basil colored river.
He is atop the imaginary mast,
Making captives walk the plank,
Capturing undiscovered treasures.
He is youthful bliss,
Like an Alabama summer day,