-This poem reflects on the shimmering heat above a summer road, where distance blurs and the season turns ordinary space into something wavering and strange.
Far down the blacktop, past the ditch,
the road begins to lose its shape,
its edges wavering in the heat,
its distance made of light and blur.
The fields lie still on either side,
fence posts bend softly in the haze,
and every mile the afternoon,
looks deeper than the eye can hold.
No water waits within that gleam,
no coolness gathers in the rise,
just summer lifting from the ground,
until the air itself seems molten.
To watch it is to feel the day,
not only bright, but almost altered,
the world made strange by heat alone,
and yet more fully summer for it.