Popsicles,
Or in fact anything fitting would do
A Bartlet pear, soft with summer flesh
A soft ado
The quite storms of sandy sheets that brushed my midnight feet
A crackled lake on fire
A borrowed view
Clay hills on clay waters
Stolen fruit
The lake would call me at night
When the summer was my friend
Its sweet tune of a thirsty mouth
Telling me things I needed to know
Within the crunch of my shadow
I listened to the valley
Like my own voice
And on quiet nights like this
The crisp desert air was as glassy as the lake
I can feel her in my bones
This place to live forever is my home
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