Onto the parched flanks of the sprawling
Olive grove opposite, the midday sun throws
An inkling of what passes for shade
Under each canopy of blasted limbs.
(Though under the cover of the veranda,
You still dare not move for the heat.)
Slowly stretching their legs,
The crazed thrumming incessant
Cicadas will soon burst full-blown
Through the skin of your teeth.