Summer colors, but grayish dragon flies;
cutting sounds, of rubbing legs
within bushes, along paths, of insects,
and birds, to call and swoop and eat them.
There, again, luscious green,
the grass, and vast, all over
the park, the beach, front and back yard.
The sand, pale,
beneath my feet; unpredictable grains
settle and pack, sustain me, roughly.
Countless grains, many become
silt, glazed, middle brown cake at shore,
where water piques, arrives to
surf, then sea.
Ocean reflection, sky—blue,
but the bright sun, orange and yellow,
burns my eyes, penetrates through
ozone, reduced, decimated.
Still, the Earth breathes,
and it will, and we will
survive, when lies are settled.