Mute Ecstasies of Summer
Sitting under the courtyard shade,
a block of dimmed rectangular architectural space
lays mildly cool;
Outside its precisely defined borders,
The sun seemed to have dyed everything
a bleached orange.
Waves of incessant breeze;
although felt in this unintended shelter, still carried
faint streaks of outside’s ubiquitous, gradually maturing
Once more, the summer winds carry us—
some of whom have either been much too weary,
or others having regretfully
not been weary at all—
Into an apparently constant state
yet nonchalant dreaming.