summer heat

a centipede crawls from

white tile to

black tile.

back to white.

and black again.

the centipede is black.

you can't see it

on the black tile.

it appears again

on the white tile

like a dark rock emerges

from ocean froth.

you watch it

with sleepy eyes.

for what seems like

an eternity

for the both of you.

then it is gone.

you can't see it anymore.

not even on the black tile.

the cicadas drone on.

the sunlight burns like black car leather.

you look around for

something else.

anything else.

to get your mind off

the heat.

or more importantly.

the stillness in

your head.