A poem: Summer Sleep

The night is warm
sticky on my skin
I lye in bed and
imagine the coolness
of a breeze rustling
through the trees.
I’m tempted to roll
in the thick summer grass
wet with dew
at this late hour,
cool and soft to the
touch of my skin.
I move across the room
and turn on the fan
its motion like
taking in a panoramic view.
It moves the warm air
but emits a sound
that calms me, and
quiets my mind.
In this tranquility
like sedation,
I’m restful and
sleep is mine.