The world doesn't divulge the depths of its feel, the breadth of the draw, the grasp of the limits of light. It only slows beneath these strokes of shadows. It only sleeps in the sense that it dreams without end. The shrieks of the girls in the soccer field echoing through the steel gleam and the painted fall. An owl somewhere nearer to heaven, calling down sign.
The day clings to the beaches, it slows near the rivers. It gives each and every, and then it is gone. We scarcely note the replacement. We are callus and we are fickle, devouring all these lined up lovelies. We are apt and we are hungry. Confession never catches us clear.
I sweat through my shirt as if it was in contest. I fail every test and blame it on the wind. Pine needle and crow feather. Evidence just flings itself at my feet. I will feel this summer for my life and then forget it. I will feel this autumn caught in the constellations peeping through the fence. The world broods on, and I follow my laundry. The word says nothing, and all the words fall down.
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