The sticky hotness of summer has settled on Arkansas.
Where the nights are so humid that street lights seem to flicker like
candle flames
and all words spoken are poetry,
lingering in the heat.
Everything has a soft red glow to it,
and in the evening the sun drips through the leaves of the trees
like honey.
Everyone walks around singing
Gershwin's song.
1 comment:
very nice.
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