A content hush took off its trousers
left its muddied socks by the lake,
and plunged deep into reflective waters
so that its very nature
may swell with the refreshing burst
held by summer and surplus sunlight.
twirl the treetops into shifting greens,
the mailbox closes as Mr. Postman drives away
a shutting motion revives a morning notion
and like the treetops
the day begins to spin away
from the kitchen to the hammock
out past a voice that soars
into the valleys
traversed by both smog and sweat.
The tones ringing out the windows
sleep in a chorus of drone
while tired bodies stretch themselves
across ruffled bedsides and on top
the painted shine of each others arms.
When the chorus echoes rise
taking the sun in both day-dreaming hands,
these eyes will peel free
to shudder and then marvel
in a foam of grass-covered hues
at the burning day and its fruits
which fall into our soft woven baskets
as the bugs taste the tiny juices
that burst forth when the fruits
splatter against the basket bottom.