14 July 1954
Sun melts the eastern
then western horizon.
Scorched air settles
between those far verges,
scalds lungs
under a shadeless noon.
A faint breeze rises
and burns flesh.
Corn fields crackle,
turn brown
in a day:
long leaves sear
to rattling swords.
The whole week broils,
but gradually cools
to old men’s stories
retold
on every
air-conditioned day.
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Poemblaze Blog 
i enjoyed this poem, it flows so nice, made me feel like i was there.
The swords image is excellent. Good day to feel the ghosts of baking heat.
i grew up south east of st louis.
i like the poem.
gonna check out the photos.
Thanks for the kind words.
A beautiful poem … so powerful with its imagery that I felt the streets baking beneath my feet. Love ‘corn fields crackle, turn brown in a day’. Wonderful … thank you.
Intriguing…especially the last few lines.
Quite a solar journey … the soles of my feet feel scorched in a very nice way, and now walk in cool earth on that lovely air-conditioned day.