The summer’s sunshine fades — sinking
into dusky pinks and gold that
glimmer into dusty motes which linger
in the air. Lazy, settling
floating, drifting until—

dis-rupted

by a curlicue of air that
reaches in through open window to stir
licking into the hazy swelter
of the room, still smothered by
the mid-day’s heat.

The breeze caresses, beckons.
Swirling dust motes into tendrils
like fingers: reaching, calling
in a drifting dance
to sway me from repose.

I linger at the window,
shimmer in the last golden ray
of rapidly fading day.
Linger as gold gives way to ochre, then
to rust. And then to dusky gray.

There’s night come swooping in my
open window. Her cold fingers rasp against
bared arms — raise goosebumps
and set me loose as I am

set adrift

tangled in the rush of cool air
that whispers in my window.