Heat
By H.D.
O wind, rend open the heat,
Cut apart the heat,
Rend it to tatters.
Fruit cannot drop
Through this thick air --
Fruit cannot fall into heat
That presses up and blunts
The points of pears
And rounds the grapes.
Cut the heat --
Plough through it,
Turning it on either side
Of your path.
It is, indeed, hot. Really hot.
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