I roll onto my side,
the grass damp and prickly on my bare legs.
A speckled monarch flits across a big-leaf hydrangea sky.
The breeze tousles the rose bushes, sighs,
then rests.
Nature’s beauty draws me in, but my own
drowsiness, like the reel of a fishing rod,
pulls me back.
I let the blades pierce my neck, my arms
openly welcoming the chilling sensation
while a tree teases me with its shade, covering
me, then dancing off.
Peace envelops me like the husk of a summer
tomatillo, like the soft petal
of a sleepy tulip.
New York, New York
