Honeybee wings and
honeysuckle vines and time
dripping with summer sap fat
as bears—grizzlies, polar—and sweat
stuck on the neck of July,
baptizing dancing feet of flies.
Swat the buzzing, the humming, the
unceasing sunset drowning
a cricket’s fiddle, a band of cicadas,
a woods so thick with haze it held
no edges, like a dream, a porch light
flickering a code every child knows, 
without knowing why—come home.