summer in IR colour

Drowsing under my favorite mulberry

I think of other insomniacs

who beat the air with delicate wings

to find a quiet nest. I'd trade my arms

to join them. I think of the orange light

which sifts down, speckling my hand,

a light which appears to emanate

from itself. I think of the park across

the field, now rising to life, the little souls

of climbers and scramblers and sliders

and twirlers luminous as they arrive

and fill the air with raucous joy.

Older ones shag balls on the diamond,

swimmers line up at the gate, an ice cream

truck trolls past scattering carousel music

as everyone longs for a cool novelty,

for endless, languid days, mild nights,

no school, no work, no end to this

glorious, mid-summer moment.

 

-- Miguel de O

 

Done