into our house;
someone let summer
creep upstairs
and leave warm sheets
in our beds;
someone let summer rub its sweet neck smells
on our pillows, crumpled and worn.
Someone called the frogs to whistle in the sedges;
to rattle like heated silver pellets inside a gourd;
and someone told the night to stop breathing…
told summer to press its face against greasy windows
and watch us all while we slept,
skin-to-skin with the night,
while the summer stillness at the windows
robbed us of our breath.
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