late

butterflies dance, a summer ambience
but are broken pianos still pianos ?

thoughts have lives that zig-zag
like airplanes on any given day

we sweat for dreams
walking past flower 
gardens
our skin turning leather
as childhood runs behind us

getting directions crossed
as conversations within
ourselves
slip, shuffle
becoming a crooked kind
of sustenance 
leaves us fevered for water

the ocean lies before us
the sky wants to dance
with kites
but is strangling on 
chemtrails 

and we're surprised by light
that arrives too early
but maybe we're just late