heat-song

heat-song: the trill of a starling
on an empty morning,
the wind like wet paint,
the forecast Dionysian:
    somber, wide-eyed
  and a little unkempt.
stiffening, thickening, fattening air,
  air a wick that takes up wax,
    hungers for it,
    gorges on it.

air that passes from the sun 
barbed missives to the Earth
which, so goaded, perspires
    sweetness, sourness, rot
a bouquet of black-flecked
    roses for the god of Eros.

still.

there is love in the splattered fly
love in the sticky toe-curling release
love in the smell of rosemary
    rubbed between thumb and finger

all those scents of minor violence