Elegy

I.
when summer lay smoldering in beds of grass
and the earth burned our naked feet

days swallowed each other
the spur of action saved always for
later

(this was the lie in the yard
sweating green into the heavy air

deepfry tan sun
glinting red off your retinas

pressure-cooked skin on
muskoka wood)


II.
the snails we collected by the dusty curb
the flies that hit our burnt faces
the cat that laced its way through fences

eyes iced shut
lying with the rest of the past

what little grace remains
in the languid movement
of limp leaves and hot birds
now tempered by loss