passing by our gate

morning walkers and their dogs

a bowl licked quite dry

a hot upward draft

scrapes a branch against a wall

a dozing bird blinks

heatwave continues

spiders spin webs in the shade

hoping for dewdrops

sitting by the road

pulling up strings of asphalt

his back to the sun

under flowerpots

where moist creatures like to live

dry earth, empty shells

early morning wash

drips fall while butterflies dance

diamonds on their wings

the disappointment

astro-turf, dried up husks of

old cigarette butts

along this old lane

bowls sit outside garden gates

thirsty dogs lapping

butterfly alights

on my arm, long tongue probing

my skin for moisture