Analgesic

The air is a hot
still blanket.
It fills my lungs
with the opium
of summer.
I drift.
Bird song is a
clamor
I can’t ignore.
I breathe it in
with the warm air
and drift.
Closing my eyes
I inhale verdant
and exhale pain.
Liquid bones
don’t groan
as they greet
one another.
They float
in that same
felted heat
where
I drift.

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