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Nature, Poetry, Whatever, Writing

Heat Stroke

Sunlight spears through my brain piercing my thoughts

and refracting shadows on the wall as through etched glass.


I squint at the the glare of memories projected there:

The sweet smell of bacon grilling on a summer morning.

The feel of water running through my toes.


Sounds beat through my skull making my ears tingle.

A chorus of day birds in the early spring.


I shade my head and rest beneath the shadow

looking for the silence found in cold, wet mud after a rain,

or in the ice deep in a glacier blue.


The heat on my temple pounds out the beat of a salsa,

and I lie down in the rhythm of its dance

as waves of heat surround me

like mist surrounds a waterfall.

About rozzychan

Rosalyn Hunter is the principal writer on the series Lunatics. Please support us. http://lunatics.tv


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