orange-hot afternoon

Yesterday I crossed two short lanes
in orange-hot heat. The sun cast
rays through blue and white dotted veins
of clouds tirelessly drifting rains
to mysterious wonders past.

Once shaded I loosened my slacks,
smelled soft foam and the aroma
of ground wood, nutmeg and burnt wax.
I stamp down steps just to relax
and drift to a noontime coma.

My eyes opened by shutting tight,
picturing a day without sound
I heard the world colorless. Bright
with satisfaction and delight
I leaned on roots stuck in the ground.

Invisible water travels
not so silently, drifting by
the green mulch of plants and gravel
to float up sails that unravel
in winds mixed with laughs and soft cries.