A blazing sun caught in the trees
Attempts to set, but branches mesh
And hold the globe. Those rays they seize
Should now have been in Marrakesh.
We are just little figures there,
Absorbing errant rays that stream
Upon the porch. A white lawn chair
Casts its long shadow on the screen
And that greyed grass surrounding us.
But sun is running far too late
To stop, explain, or make a fuss.
Dark is what we anticipate.