The Infinite End of Summer

Take a coffee pot.
Doesn't matter which color.
Relic, heirloom, or hand-me-down.
Enjoy the morning,
peaceful non-resistance.
Then get to work in concrete fields
cracking slabs back to earth,
sweat molecules sandy seashells of salt.
Take your macular-cleansed glint-eye
into the Art Festival streets.
Prove stone's impermanence.
Pitch your tones, tents tethered to trees,
easing their harmony as close as you can
to wisdom & encompassing love in the trunk-limb.
Admire sexy boot style on the pineneedles
& face bright implications framed with sky.
Joke with your motherly concerned waitress
stacked spoons of comfort. Hold the tea in your palms,
cupping the warmth crisp as her mysterious enflame.
As a lover's breast the sidewalk seated flirt
milk of sustenance drawn forth
by a foreign finger's touch, a changing breath,
nipple at attention in the sway,
a toasty glance in the hazel.
A vanishing night through the streetlamps
of summer's star-edged neverend.