Heat saturates
every aspect of this world.
If not heat, then cold.
On the bottom step of the patio,
unmoving: the perfect wire
symmetry of a dragonfly.
In a clump of grass a few
meters away, the armor
shed by a lone cicada.
When the stars emerge
tonight, will they let down
a ladder for them to ascend?
In the shadow of the fig
tree, the secretary spider
keeps writing.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
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