Heat

It is so hot here you can
feel it, sweat
running down your legs and back at 10 o clock at night.

It is so hot here you can
hear it, metal
baking and crackling in the sun, almost like raindrops.

It is so hot here you can
see it, waves
reflecting and rising off an endless invisible lake.

It is so hot here you can
feel it, wind
limping past, as if escaping from an open oven door.

Warm wind doesn’t refresh; stillness is anticipating
rain that disappoints.
Icarus’ wings would melt before he ever left the ground.

--28 Mar 2005