Word Play

Night, in its infancy,
Wants to run wild circles
in the summer sand
stoke the bonfire
stroll carefree along
lapping surf lines
with salted air
tickling tastebuds
already coated with
taffy and tangerine
shave ice
while fingers
interlocked with love
and lovers
tickle and tease
the child within
until suddenly,
without warning,
without even a hint of
coming,
fall arrives to carry
Persephone down
without a fight.
And no one cries
because the cycle begins
again as it must
and the cycle begins finally
until dusk to dusk
it’s summer again.