rural summer retablo

which is the patron saint of juicy limes 
and cool air twisting 

across the soles of bared feet?  

and to whom shall i send my slipping and sighs:  

for these summer bits and for that train whistle calling 

from somewhere to my dreamless night?

with my windows open to the otherwise quiet

otherwise alone

otherwise darkness.



--

previously published in Dappled Things, spring 2011