July

I am scorched with the unforgiving heat of July;

And the wind laughed and didn’t care to stop, saying there is nothing to bellow anymore;

I held on to the skirts of the clouds, they did not stop and asked where the water was ;

I asked myself which layer of consciousness I was at;

Burning from within like the olive tree as I dreamt of the cool waters of the rainforests;

The smell of hot and moist ashes irritated my throat as I washed myself with the Amazon rain dripping from the leaves;

I lay in the shadow of the willow tree and slept till the next July.