Southern Swinging

The heat thickens the air

It's a constant pressure on your lungs

and a constant smell of autumn

the old neighbor is in his gardens

picking his red ripe tomatoes

and I can hear the cows across their barricades 

I'm sitting, swinging, my feet smoothing over the 

soft planks of stained wood

And I'm watching the dragonflies chase each other 

in the air of their own games

the sky began a clear blue, but the clouds dance together

now, greatening the humidity 

the rumbling begins in a distance 

I look for the house with the paisley curtains

through the window where the cold is kept prisoner,

a baby is laughing

he watches between the lions with a sore mouth

but can't get enough of them bumping their heads

this is the place where I should be

I am surrounded by what I need

Snakes are falling out of the trees

and the bends in the road are sharp

I'm living in the weather of minutes

the rain begins pouring like the hurricanes

but only minutes

I'll now return into the cold paisley room

and sit between the lions

just waiting to return to my swinging

and listening to her baby laughing