Lazy Summer

Empty head in hand. It’s gone.
Voices fold and melt to one.
Hum.
Blue skies, tropic and memory.
“I remember all you gave to me.”
Nostalgic lyrics find their place,
In sunglasses and vintage lace.

Everything but task in hand.
Clouds outside remind me:
Another cloud goes past on
windless days, a hillside wasting
away.
Time. Always too much but never
Enough. Where does it all go?
Lazy, I suppose, just like those Italian days.
Twinkle of splashing coins louder than
voices and noise.
History is decorated by candle-like light.
What a waste.

Sunlight warm on my face,
The grass tickles you know.
Lazy, lazy, lazy.
It’s summer of course.