short story slam week 98

July morning,
Crispy sunshine cooks the roof,
daydreams halt,
She gets out of her room,
Her eyes glitter with fire,
Her nightgown has an iris sash,
She waters the lawn
in front of the house,
Bitterish thoughts run through the hose
and flood the limitless earth
like orchards of rain
washing the muddy plain,
She lets the time sing,
Not worrying about the death of spring.