ACCOUNT OF MY DAYS
Sequence: 3
7/29/12
this summer is tougher than its trees
its excesses sadden the fields daily
towards sundown the doves count
in their own language all that's been lost
facing such heat each breath
like a ragged mouse slips in and out
hoping not to be noticed
when the nights start to get cool enough
to open windows and the mornings
scent out the next season coming
I spend afternoons in a daydream
time doesn't pass it can't move even a finger
of course nothing gets done
and so my presence counts for nothing
nothing could be sitting in my place
and the room be as it is