July Sun
BY R.J. RONGCAL I APRIL 30, 2010

On nights like these, 
during sleep of the holiday-stuffed, 
during the waning hours of dark, 
I stay up. 
I stay up — 
with her in the other room — 
and look through old pictures 
of you and me. 

One is of you at Lowly State Park, 
balancing high atop crooked, dry rocks. 
You’re wearing that blue tank-top, 
and the crease of the harbor horizon, 
like a never-ending slack-line, 
hangs prepared to catch you. 
Your sun-burnt hands hide 
in the pockets of your denim skirt. 
The wind blows 
your hair 
hard, UP 
off your shoulders, finding your smile. 
And the sun, 
Oh! That romantic sun! 
burns high, 
the way 
20 year-old 
hearts 
can so 
danger- 
ously 
bu 
r 
n 
.

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