Aside
Something foolish and apart,
waiting in an automobile.
Only the distant sun is intensified,
more hot by the glass inside.
Syllables strike too.
Like UV rays, they can't escape
to go feeling around outside
(perhaps the wind laughs gracefully?)
A tree grows, natural child,
cooing the earth's one song,
that ends alone in a car,
with the engine on.
Nathan Miserocchi