The crooked shadow of a trill
Though its quick flight is straight
But otherwise the yard is still
Hypnotized by the heat
Earlier before you arrived
The false hope of a cool breeze
Ambled through the blue leaves
A momentary retrieve
But now it's real hell we meet
The quiet at the center of a flame
In which we are slowly being consumed
Through the motionless afternoon
So what's left of us by nightfall
Is just the crackling of the stars
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