july 15

no one has been here since
the last rain, the sand dimpled below

the paths of stormclouds.  This heat
feels different, like a breath

that lays against you, steals your air.
the killdeer nest is empty

even the eggshells are gone and the evening
feels new and brightly cracked.

again and again you submerge
in the goldgreen light of the river, opening

your eyes to smooth stone,
to the hazy cold

that is always here
at the edge of the world.