Hot afternoon

 

A hot afternoon light yellow air,

a single cricket and bird call in terraces,

separated by silence and human living.

In the grass were bees and small butterflies

hopping from clover to clover, and above

the other world of the sky, linked to this earth,

its soft clouds floating in endless streams.

Green, yellow, blue – these colours were all

our poor vision of the rainbow.

My little boy stood framed in a window,

a dog chased the bees,

from the join of the worlds the wind blew,

fortelling change.

 

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