Summer Clouds (Press)

I'm shivering slightly in the chilling breeze
blowing loose pages, tree limbs thick with leaves, my hair.
There's a song playing out there amidst those houses,
I can hear the faint notes of the chorus,
overrun with birds' song, the sweet chirping
blending almost impossibly with the drifting notes.
The grass was mowed and the sharp, prickly smell
of the newly shorn stems tickles my nose.
in the distance, a couple of boys race bikes
across the uneven dirt paths,
but I can't see them,
just as I can't see the swings rocking in the wind
or any of the other newly-installed plyground equipment
crouching two feet in front of me as I lay sprawled
in the lush green grass.
I can see, however, the same scene that has occupied
my mind all day, playing and repeating until I'm fairly
stuck in it's grasp.
You, walking slowly down the sidewalk, surrounded by friends,
tiliting your head to hear some quick, yet witty remark
and tossing it back as you laugh.
I can't see your face, you're walking away from me,
each step taking you farther until you're no longer
there, just an empty pane of glass,
empty of all but my head resting against
the cool, hard surface and
the dull, gray chains of the swing blowing in the breeze.