Passion is present in summer on lakes
Where the sun singes swimmers’ bronzed skin.
Carefree ardor may be increased with wine:
At table with olives, cheeses, and gin.
Even when unconscious there is desire,
Haunting—unwillingly, unsought—our dreams.
With lightning and loud thunder comes fervor:
The wilderness begets wildness, it seems.
But while July lakes, repasts, sleep, and storms
May each decorate a pretender’s stage,
Only love infuses into its making
That evasive spark that quickens each age,
That makes consequent the source of a boast
And raises creation to its utmost.
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David Murphy 