EARTH’S CORE

Sila’s mouth was a ping of light

The play through broad daylight

felt unusual

Leaping from the tall porch

was an old trick

The elation had even once

cost him a trip to the Emergency Room

He had to hang back

and let the beats from his hip dissipate

The concrete had broken his fall

after his feet lost grip of the white ball

made of cement

He’d moved on,

yet the play, even with new faces,

felt the same

The warm summer air

was too precious

The sky’s orange ore,

the color of Earth’s core,

was both beautiful and antagonistic

because the soul of a ruminator

knew how to bask in elation

and anticipate its eventual ending

—and summer, it’s bright beam,

was not ending, but would

and Sila’s smile made him want to pause it

right here

He wanted it all to rest still:

The bright full green trees,

the narrow street

and the big school across the street

stuck under construction,

housed by scaffolds

It was all similar, then and now

because Summer always came and went