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
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