the sun was making fists today
rolling on the necks
of everyone

and inside
there were empty glasses
on the windowsill
refracting noon horrors

i float to the ceiling for the moment
chasing the hair thin
cracking of the paint
making spiders
and trees of them

a hot numbness grabs my feet
and creeps towards my lap
with ninety eight degrees
of malice and desperation

the cracks opened above me
and blue clouds leaked from them
they touch my face
massaging the light from my eyes
giving me strength

the heat settles on my lap
grabbing me in knots
tighter
and tighter
until the heat is in me
swelling me
to bursting

i fall
sleeping
the blue clouds retreating
and the spiders
and the trees
growing still
his head
lifting the heat
from me

the sun was making fists today
rolling on the necks
of everyone
i was six and quiet
and they'd have the sprinkles
open today
and i would run through
them
laughing
trying not
to get wet