The first day of summer

 

The boy slept.

His eyelids fluttering,

his lips muttering.

Wild flowers in bloom,

rippled around him,

weaving themselves through his hair,

hair as dark as a moonless night.

They tangled his limbs,

limbs as warm as cream mixed with mountain honey.

Gods watched on, silent and still.

The boy, 

birth of summer,

was god for a day,

no more, no less.

He slept,

waiting for the dawn,

his first and final day.