Aglide agitant
over the balding sweetgrass,
grazing light tickletoe, barely off the soil.
arched back through the tireswing
the fuss of hair lunging off her head
set in sway resisting her momentum
undone in permanence.
The court of motionless summer
and her celestial highness
occupying the noontime throne
in splendor.
An ebbing ocean of cicada wings
shut her eyes and fill her ears
her face lightly searing,
mottled sun dripping honey through branches.
But for a fluctuation of wind,
a handful really,
folding song of sky
into downy peaks along
the lip of the deep cornflower dome,
cunning sickle moon prematurely perched there
Rehearsing his ascension,
Mending his casting net
strung counterpoint with stars,
awaiting the astonishment of nightfall
and it's cotton candy thunderclap
unleashing
the low hover
of spare dreams
hereby,
and forever
disappearing