In the wilting heat
the songs that come to me
are ones I’ve sung before
or heard so often forty years ago
that all the notes are etched deep in my mind

The same with words, with poems,
as lines I’ve read and loved come back to me,
along with ones I’ve written,
and the only way to find new words
is to seek shade, and the space it brings,
for leaves, and lines,
to hold themselves full.

©Wendy Mulhern
August 5, 2019