Heat does not Rise

Winter melt and spring rain fill
the meadow pond as amphibians
emerge from deep mud hibernation.

Summer comes to open the upstairs
for bed sleeping, the wall-to-wall
mattress drawn tight
with slick pink winter-stored satin.

Tough tuck and sheet slide are witnessed
by the spying alphabet quilt.
A curious cat paw stretches
under the locked door.

We know it is not heat
but hot air that rises up steps, through
abandoned pipe holes in floor boards
and water-stained cracks in the ceiling.
Invitations are whispered from molecules
in motion to join in the natural convection.
I follow one step behind,
up to the summer room.

Toes wiggle warm together under blankets
and give congratulations for having made it
back another year. Fingers soon follow
the parade that moves inward as we stretch
and tangle together in the first satin swim
of summer.

Quiet now, we hear the all amphibian
chorus serenade us through wide opened windows.
You sleep without concern for the long days
that will dry the meadow pond.

Soon enough all that will remain
are cracked trails in the mud
used for the moist migration,
all songs packed into tight tissue
until spring returns.