By: Myles Allen

There is a panther in the undergrowth and its name is a cool breeze from the bay

Petals blossom as a false predator, flashing their colors as a warning to the ground

New life means new killers, finding feet with which to chase down the dusk

When you walk out the door you can smell it, the growling of the grass

Freshly massacred. Sunlight slaughters the sidewalk and I sidestep along

The beach, trying to pretend like the sand feels good between my toes,

Pretending to be content.

That is what the sun

Is supposed to bring:

Relief. A strained sigh.

But when I see light bounce

From the water like fleas,

I shudder to feel its burn.