This Summer, this Summer when cathedral skies slip
past noon and capitol domes resound with parched tongues
like dry leaves of lawn in the dewless, clueless morn
of something that is preparing the ground for a change
it can’t possibly imagine complete, sufficient to itself
and beyond being whole in its unswerving sameness
waiting to be revealed again at the beckoning palette,
                                                                                       day’s end.

This summer and this summer on and on past the borders
of belief perfect in its merciless heavy head beating us down
to dig into the cool recesses of rock and earth and burrow
the hollows in the yard sinking deep in the protective shell
cuddling close to the essence, existence banking the fire
and glowing coals of life waiting for the first cool breeze
that will flame past yellow and orange to that pink blue intensity,
                                                                                               immense sky.

Oh, this Summer and oh, this Summer when the forces
of reaction, retrenched interaction girdle the poor old globe
which reverses seasons escapes all reasons, goes its own way
precious as each day, waiting and waiting, all this great sodden freight
under the frothy flight of the cirrus gossamer fleeing the corners
of the horizon accepting, always accommodating everything
locusting in the imploring fronds waving their shaggy palms
of dust and crying without tears to the towering sky.

 

James Van Looy has been a fixture in Boston’s poetry venues since the 1970s. He is a member of Cosmic Spelunker Theater and has run poetry workshops for Boston area homeless people at Pine Street Inn and St. Francis House since 1992. His work appears weekly in Oddball Magazine.