Hot thick fog off the coast seeps into the family
Summering there and the members become
Unstable like swollen insects filled with blood not their own.
The bitter savors the sweet.
The halls echo a time you want to bring back.
There are photographs of a family
On the mantle and no one knows them.
The day is measured in bird calls and
The cries of children
Tired from freedom
The house echoes into itself
Becoming a memory already.
Lying on your bed
Smell of starch and old sweet joy
Voices like patterns of Mozart or maybe
Cold Play but it is so very hot