Mark A. Fisher

(untitled)

too hot

desert summer

sun burns the foothills brown

below the mountains’ cooling breeze

high up

too tired

to try to write

beneath clear azure skies

dozing away warm afternoons

waiting

my muse

barely awake

she mumbles sleepily

of forgotten clouds and cool rains

of spring

passing

time never slows

we long to remember

all the words we forgot to say

before

waiting

autumn’s cooling

and another season

to build memories before it’s

too late

too hot

to try to write

she mumbles sleepily

all the words we forgot to say

too late