ADAGIO

sun-feeding in this terracotta season

you like to think you’re still a furnace



a brick wall that holds its fire past summer

draws like crackling wood in the grate - 



squashes and gourds light market stalls, 

Indian corn, braided garlic, straw flowers;



rust crawls a rash into the old van’s chrome 

crusts like occult blood over derelict wounds



the restaurant spreads monk-orange cloths - 

taste of Bangkok in the hot-sour soup



you hold out your hands as if to flames

the hectic leaves dashing to earth



the old brick house’s western wall

an illuminated page engraved by sun.

© Barbara Myers