Late afternoon

I could compare this to another day,

the crackle of the grass could be the same,

lazy, crisp and distant in the heat

that turned our steps to echoes of the sun.

When every sense is almost saturate

and I am thrumming with the earth's machine,

the lost is lost, possible to forget

entangled in the solar paradigm.

The crackle of the grass could be the same

if the echo where you were could be forgot. -

Despite persuasions of the afternoon,

and spite of time, there sears within the gut

the instinct of a rabbit caught at noon

for falcons as they lurk against the sun.