The mercury sun swells
       Looms
Hits the dust
Etching and polishing
       Shaking the collisions of the blue
Ringed spiral sky
Making it smolder
Making it hum

Dashing lines
Green with bottoms
Deceitful and possessive
Of the silent rising fog
       Drifting
To the valley
Of the yellows
Of the reds

Beasts creep from the corners
When Dusk drops
       Her blue velvet cloak
Night arrives
Redemption
But the memory of the heat lingers
A golden paste
A golden smile

Morning cannot mock now
It seems
A swing creeps with company
Two starlings
Black satin cords sealing their blushing necks…

Oblivious
To the rage exalted
Only outside of the sweet shell
Where the witches
Perch the caves of the onyx and ivory
Desiring the wings of the bees
With the eyes of pearls
With the gossamer wings

One came to me –
       “Would you like to stay?”
It choked.

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Wesley Ann P. Johnson is a high school senior in Michigan.