Fiery Summer Poem by Peter Black

During Fiery summer the red ants swarm
Digging tunnels beneath grass: form high holds,
That mark the dangers in the grass off roads,
While I drink from pickle jars,
Carrying the glass with one finger by its lid-
And wish for a possible purpose and drive,
To give life meaning and expel the heat.
Standing, sometimes I feel so tall,
Beyond the trees my arms reach heights:
I can pluck the sun like an orange and chew,
Out fire and flame and make all things new,
But quickly, sink down to my correct shape,
A single thing in the heat of the sun.