Somewhere in the summer sun,

Where dandelions dance and sing

Along with the bluebird’s lonesome cry,

Alone, you’ll find me, lying there

Between the grass seed and maple leaves,

What

is this, this viscous liquid I’m drowning in, something dark and opaque, I cannot breathe—

What is

Slowly,

I stand, 

simmering in the seraphic summer sun, softly

stammering silly sayings,

smiling at the shining sky.

Solemnly, 

I sit,

in the scenes of September, singing