Day in Summer

On the island the lovers lie
almost lost in the feathery mists
of the heat straining
from the tortured womb
of an August sun.

My boat lies off-shore
drifting with the river,
only its red floor-boards
between my tanned feet
and the deep blue grave
of the river.

The lovers lie as close as that,
on their little island of sand.
Between embrace they toss pebbles up
and wait for the splash
and the turning out of the ripples.

Deep in our days of heat
we sup up all the love
in the world. In my boat
there are garlands of blue-flags
wet and moist
for all lovers.

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