• Gary Hunter

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

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