High Summer

It is not the noise of cicadas but that

other underlying sound    drone    that hum

as of the energy of many bees at work

in an unseen hive  …almost resonance   almost

vibration   almost palpable as it seeps through

the pores    into every living and non-living

core   In the thick heat the red daylilies turn

greasy…  sunflowers wilt…  the yet-to-bloom

phlox and actea weigh down from sound   Dirt

cracks   Dry meadow grasses tassel to seed   

Milkweed turns blossom to pod   One blood red

leaf from the black gum tree falls to ground

Overnight some peak   it seems   has come then

gone   …even as it arrives it’s leaving