I watch the sun come over
The tops of the trees:
A dirt road in the sun.
Crows and cicadas
The only things
Making a sound.
Dust / hangs there.

“Caw” this crow calls
A few yards ahead,
Calls out to his friends.
Something he's eating
Lies still
On the side of the road. 
He waits till I go.

July / Watching the smoke
July / From brush fires. 
July / A month since rain.
July / Thunder again.

Watching the ice cubes
Melting in my glass;
Cold water tastes so good.
I'm standing
In front of the fan
But the heat stays the same.
Sweat / dries on my face.

And so I put / my chair
By the crab apple tree;
Wait there for a breeze,
Wind chime of a breeze,
Sweeping through the
Trees in the sun.  

July / Watching the smoke
July / From brush fires. 
July / A month since rain.
July / Thunder again.

If I wait
With my eyes tightly closed
And don't move for a while
I'll hear the ring of the phone.
You'll call / you'll call me.
I'm waiting by the trees,
I'll see you in the road
When you come.

Mike Enright, c. 1999