July Afternoon

If you speak to me,

come softly 

dig carefully into the sand within me,

stories buried in layers

if you meet me,

come in the lull of the afternoon 

we'll barter paper notes

creased with memories -

between sips of tea and crumbling biscuits

under the flickering kitchen bulb 

while rain taps the scorched waiting earth

and when the cups are empty 

the air is thick with listening

we'll look out

not for answers,

but gazing at the shape of the world as it is

in reverie,

between the ticking hands of the clock 

like a bird's wing

folding 

into stillness