hammock land

Wet, verdant, cool grass on my
naked feet
draws me like a leash
into the shade where I
can see the heat,
but the heat can’t see me.
The hammock accepts my fall loosely
wraps me up and holds me
freely.
I float on the breeze that
sings and breathes against my skin.
Back and forth, I sway
like a ship
and my lead body
doesn’t try to prevent
the daisy dust and
heady scent
of wild thyme hugging the slope,
to enter and heal me
and make me more sleepy.
I hear my mummy hum
from the window that’s open
she’s carried away
with the big heavy cars
and the high open wind,
the earaching bugs and
the fine lazy day,
and on the way,
grabs my consciousness’
hand
and takes it away to
hammock land.