The porch swing rocks in anticipation, 

waiting for me. 

The shade is hot 

and the metal chain is hotter, 

I wince as I brush it with my hand. 

I push the pain aside 

with the rest of my sunburn,

making a note to find aloe inside. 

A lizard blinks up at me, 

eyes bugging out as if 

to commiserate about the heat. 

I wave at it, 

and it scurries off, 

leaping into the sand near the pool. 

Half of me wonders 

why I am still out in this heat, 

the other half 

too asleep to notice. 

The swing rocks gently, 

the sunlight blankets me, 

and the cicadas sing me to sleep. 

When I wake, 

time doesn’t seem to have passed. 

I am covered 

in a light sheen of sweat, 

no more or less 

than when I fell asleep. 

The beach house still shades me, 

the sand still sticks 

between my toes. 

There is no difference between 

the paradise 

before sleep nor after. 

I look around for a clock, 

and find none. 

The swing is still moving, 

the cicadas still screaming. 

The lizard has disappeared for good.

I let my feet fall to the ground, 

and stand up, 

pushing through the humid haze 

that has gathered in my head. 

Inside, 

it is cold and dark, 

and I am tired once more. 

The couch is inviting, 

the cool fabric absorbs my sweat, 

and the hum of the air conditioning 

replaces the constant noise of the cicadas. 

I am at peace still, 

never having broken

the trance of the beach.