Distant in a field of English lavender,
tethered to nothing but the sensation of heat,
I lapse into the blue noon, glimmering.
A cicada spins out, nosedives into the hollow 
between my collarbones. Stunned, it lays
against my skin, a broach, a brief adornment.
I only cut the wildflowers that will dry well,
I leave the rest for the fauna. I slip away
just in time for the darkening clouds riding in.
Not that I mind the rain. I’ve always enjoyed
to stand still amidst the chaos of it, witnessing.