just above the tree tops
looking over town,
the horizon flows
like a million simmered peaches
tumbling down into rich cream
an emulsion of ripe summer and delight

poolside, clothed,
with dipped feet
I wallow in the southern melancholy
and listen to the drawl of mating insects
whose eyes for one another miss
a line of vapors splitting the sky,
technologic sillage of a jet-set life
too quick for the world below,
that, from my perspective, divides
the encroaching expanse of space
from the unresolved skyline
in a manner that suggests a choice
to be made

choosing neither, I wait to watch
the contrail dissipate
so that the sky could, once again, 
become whole,
a declivity from nothingness
to the last bursts of light
over my town and me