On the Solstice

a poem for the first day of summer

On the Solstice 

Lightning stilts 
the gloam, lingers 
behind the eyes. 
A negotiation

between stasis 
and abrasion, 
petrichor 
and car exhaust, 

lends the weather 
its broken music. 
At dusk, I move 
through the room

or the room moves 
through me. 
Night falls 
into insect static. 

Air too thick to think. 
And the moon 
in a pool 
on old linoleum.