The Sun of Early Summer

Sliding into the western strand
The sun deepens to bronze
Like helmets of conquistadors
Or shoulders of migrants
Bending to vineyards
Along the coast.

Odd, the images Sol suggests.
No wonder he was thought a god
By searching minds, long gone
Reckoned eternal and wise
By those who wished they were.

My cheeks redden
Eyes sting with salt from sweat
Lips dry and thoughts parched
Sighing at the luxury of a frozen margarita
Or kiss from a pretty girl
Wrapped in a towel.

Days are lengthening
On this spin around our star
On long afternoons
Spent half-asleep
Eyes slit to welcome
The sun of early summer.