The Air-Conditioned View - Aug. 22, 2021

humidity steams the horizon

heat ripples the mountains

crow’s tongues hang

loosed from complaint

under a shriveled tree

the lowest caste of brown

leaves cover the ground

ordered out by death

burnt clouds of smoke

stain the blue

the listless shade

says not in here

in a heat wave

no birds sing

nor do ant’s march

or coyotes celebrate a kill

everything takes measure

of what it has and knows

in this moment breath

and not much more