Damask and canary,
Brushing my legs,
They dance in soft air in their thousands, with devout faces that watch the sun wherever it hangs.
Ecstatic worshipers, giving more attention than my small students.
I dawdle through humming heat, searching for brave orchids among the tender vetch and yolk-ish buttercups.
Butterflies: small, blue, copper, brimstone-yellow,
Dive across my path like dancing petals.
Beside me, the dog’s breath chuffs like a desperate steam engine.
Exhausted, leaking sweat from his tongue and yet,
Determined to chase the ball.