Poem 20160207

this oppressive winter heat
almost eighty and cloudless
has stolen the courage
of the frogs
who croaked to mates
and marked territory
on cooler nights

without the smooth sounding board
of clouds in the evening sky
the frogs keep their peace
we strain to hear their calls
between sparse pockets of cars

could it be that we lost our compass
and wandered south of the equator
or will this false summer
stretch on into real summer
and will we lose a generation of songs
to the heat

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