In July

In mid-July

the heat reverberates

makes the thought of comfort

dull

my footprints trail

the thick blades

of St. Augustine grass

the smell of

Confederate Jasmine

heady and heavy

Around the porch corner

I'll meet your memory

framed by spilling trumpet vines

caressing the painful ecstasy

of slow loss

These summer paths

the trajectory of earth

on its methodical orbit

thrumming away the years

murmuring the secrets

of a love lost

in the heat of evening time

Swelter permeates

the screen porch

alone in the quiet heat

I sift through

the shed blossoms

jewels tossed

from the Pink Frost crape myrtle

and the melancholy cast

from your last glance

as you headed down

the porch steps

into an evening

swallowed by

the waning moon