I'll read one last poem.
Sorry, it's a short little poem.
First reading it.
This is called "Summer."
"He slid out of his skin, leaving it
like a dried lima bean hull, white and papery on the road.
His body inched along the highway,
rippling its new red colors.
Bits of brown like stone seemed strewn
along each arm and thigh.
It was a strange transformation which had been coming.
The moon had warned him, flipping
like a fish in the sky.
A bowl of sweet cream left overnight emptied itself
to the snake living under the hearth.
When the time had come, the old skin
had shucked off, crackling.
No pain.
No pulling.
He slid his wet body into the sun.
He was dry now, and brown.
The ocean rushed through his head.
He heard the crabs moving sideways
on the bottom and the fish shouting with their fins."