Summertime Hill

It is summer now, the half-awakened hour for bee and clover, For yellow butterflies in the cannas’ scarlet throats, Summer, when still the breath of the shattering lilac lingers And the slow incense of the moonflower lifts and floats.

He lies asleep, or on the green edges of sleep, this boy With a dozen small summers behind him, forgot like a prayer, His cap pulled over his nose to lessen the freckles. The sun and the sweat of the day have captured his hair.

Far up in the oceans of sky his ships are sailing, The pale and the lean flotillas of cloud and space; Beside him a hornet explores the lashes of a daisy’s eye, The wind blows hot through a pattern of Queen Anne's lace.

Still he sleeps away the summer’s luxurious hour, Her secret, sun-bright kiss on his lips as he lies Silent as the slumbering passions within his veins, As the blue, unspoken thunder in his eyes.