There are so many ways
to sit out in the sun.
You could paint your toes
and stretch your legs
until the sun reflects off them.
Or you could lie upon your back
upon a lighted sward of grass
and hold a book
up to the fire of the sun.
Or you could turn the other way
and rest your stomach on the ground
and feel the sunlit blades of grass
grow damp beneath the favour of your skin.
And then, of course, you could
spread leopard-like out on a branch
and lick the air with a sleepy tongue.
But perhaps best of all would be
to sit wild-eyed upon some timeless tree
and dream of gliding like a cloud
(growing gradually thick and proud)
before swooping down like rain upon
a dusty and a thirsting earth.

(written ca. mid 2015)

For more about the poem, see notes.