Maelstrom 2

A paper tear across the sky
Betrays the ragged edge of summer
In patient stillness unfurls the quiet
shimmer of an evening constellation
pulsing over drooping heads at close of day
ensconced in dreams of sullen warmth
That as a mother to a sleeping child
pulls me to its breast to breathe
a sweaty fever to my brow
Bestilled in tropic dreams of burnished seas;
Raving in a jungle of delirium

Oh, if I were by the lake tonight
The frogs would sing summer carols
Of godlike storks that left
Vees and other letters trailing
Wakes; the vortices spin noiselessly.