The sun down here

            is deep, and soul-wide.


            Hiding is hard

            but everyone tries—


            small lies, big tales,

            sun screen, patio screen,

            ballcap or parasol,


            simply idling

            with iced tea once

            the heat

            gets so high


            it kicks off socks

            on its own.


            You have to put down

            deep, deep roots

            in this soil


            where old water

            draws back


            and memory

            and pain are blended

            cocoa and cream.


            The oaktree knows

            what has hung

            in these branches,


            how peckers sing

            of nests and flying,


            returning home

            to roots,


            what cools off

            this burning heart.


                                                                --David Radavich



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