the hammock

the world is sleepy,
it wilts in this heat.
the shimmer on the black tar
rises like airy glass,
bodies are hot
and linger, stretched
out on the swinging
hammock, the animals
in the woods
are still too,
quiet inside the nooks
of cool shadows
of thick trees.
you find a place
to wait it out,
a cold drink sweating
in your hot hand
while you wipe wet salt
from your squinting
ocean eyes.