Kentucky summer sighs now,
stretches out her suntanned legs,
presses her soft belly in
on our beading skin. Foreheads

damp with the same dew sprinkled 
upon the blushed and bulging 
tomatoes. We pluck them as
her tears start to crash. Leaking

gutters create fine curtains
of rain water. Tin roofs play
her lulling song. Her breath sweet, 
she exhales through the screen door,  

a perfume of petrichor.
The clay beneath her skin molds
the hills and valleys of home.
Blood of the stone, she unfolds.