Some days, absent the need for
complete inactivity –
as when frenetic events
force a dead calm –
it seems as though I
choose to lull,
bobbing ever so slightly
on the water,
barely breaking the
cohesion of the
surface tension;

I allow the sun to
cook my fair skin and
bleach my already
blond locks,
and I hear the
slow formation of a
spectacular thunderstorm;

Although sometimes deadly,
such a storm will,
without fail,
relieve, for a while,
the heavy, humid heat
that is my life
alone

drifting…

©2017 Steven Barto