The laziest days of summer
Cicadas in the heavy branches
that weep down into the flat muddy mirror
of the wide slow river

Too warm already.
I take a bath, but never dry.

Starlings are crying in the trees
like the crickets that kept me awake
by the full moon last night

its light that poured in through my window
like the gaze of a man
onto my bed where I lay
wearing nothing.

The laziest days of summer
when even a hired hand is without
a purpose, save one I can think about

And then Craig Fincher was at my front gate
Of stature and 18 and full
in many many ways.

 "Craig Fincher, move these boxes out."

Yes M'am.

 "Craig Fincher, see the barn is shut."

Yes M'am.

 "Craig Fincher, join me for some ice tea."

Yes M'am.

  "Craig Fincher, join me for a swing."

Yes M'am.

 And all the lazy while
I sat and slipped til he was hid
And smiled slightly and watched
the sight I saw.

I saw a fresh young stallion
springing up and free!

I saw a the strength of muscles
clenched tighter than a tree!

I felt his struggling tightness grow
til it moved him and in waves...

I watched him, head turned skyward cry
and beg his soul to save!

I saw him fight then triumph
then give in to the joy!

And kissed him sweetly on his mouth
this man who was a boy.

And we let the air cool our sweat.
And slept naked
in the shade.