Summer July 6 2012

Summer made it all more real.
Driving home with the takeout
was like running along a polished blade
that honed its edge on every red light, license plate, and shimmering car.
The dogs' bodies idled on the dazzling decks
and the basketball youths went shirtless down the tar.
Over fences, neighborhood radios tried to outshout 
each others' boasts of love and pride and anger,
but all the mouthless objects of the metal day
were speaking secrets louder than the songs.
It was staggering, the way that blade swept through it all
and left its searing gash of unreadable meaning.
(But consider also that in another place,
the rabbit under the roof of a ragged bush
kept its silent rendezvous, trembling, unthinking, 
with a different, whispered truth of how things are.)

July 6 2012