july

Like plain marigolds-
like mussel beds, flat brackish:
it is an Hol-i-day
for the privilege
to be sitting, resting,
. . rising.

Two roads down
under shade trees
were dogs.
sleep, summer breezes,
sleep . . .
Sleep like the Catskills
slim gelatin cats;
sleep dogs
in the shade on the lawn
by the roadside;
it is a holiday.

Buy yourself enough time
let the history of air
pass through the gate;
sleep a quarter past,
stir
enough to celebrate.

in July
the clouds sneak behind
fat hickory, the sumac
to wash you hair.
And the grass grows.

© Jeff Thomas 2009