At Noon

The thick-walled room’s cave-darkness, cool in summer, soothes by saying, This is the truth, not the taut cicada-strummed daylight. Rest here, out of the flame—the thick air’s stirred by the fan’s four slow-moving spoons; under the house the stone has its feet in deep water. Outside, even the sun god, dressed in this life as a lizard, abruptly rises on stiff legs and descends blasé toward the shadows.