Rotation

Step out onto the landing
the heat so thick
you can almost scoop
the air with the cup
of a hand, a sure sign
a break is needed.

Heard it from inside,
the tell-tale calling
card of resin solid
tree droppings having
crash-landed, bounced
once or twice on the
roof, another signal,
an approach of damaging
winds.

Step out onto the landing
and a stereo symphony of
cidadas rising in creshendo
assault the ears, the same
gust that scurries the reign
of leaves travelling in rotation
pulls the tune closer, pulls in
concentrated hypnotic, so easy
to get lost in.