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Heatwave
The whitish-blue haze of the morning sky
Reveals the secrets of the coming day,
A foreshadowing of what’s to come
The slight crisp on the breeze,
A product of early morning’s love,
Fades quickly,
Overtaken,
By a thick, moist blanket of still, silent air
That moves in
By deft stealth,
So swiftly
I barely notice
Until I inhale nothing but heat.
A handful of revellers gather,
Beneath my perch
Basking in the swelter of yet another summer’s day
And another heatwave.
