when you come to the dead of summer
gathered together in a great field
all the dead of all the summers
they must be the reason for so much
light and warmth the endless afternoons
until you realize how intently
you’ve been laying there and listening
for someone or something to step
out of the blazing pool of silence
for the stillness itself to speak
until you sense they’re waiting
for you to tell them not to rest
not to lose their souls for death
not to give up on you
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