This, the hot,
which for many of us
in these parts,
means over 100.
Degrees. Farenheit.

And yeah, it’s a dry heat,
but it’s still hotter than
human body temps
should be, which means
we start looking for water
in which to quell the hot.

Which puts me in mind
of the lake down the path
from our house, waiting,
always there with its
glassy surface of a
morning, a cool
promise beckoning—

Come. Dunk. Again.
Again. Better?
Yes, again—

before heading back up
the path, mostly dry by
the time we reached
our door, carrying
molecules of lake
home in still-damp
girl hair

till the next dunk
to chase away,
even for a smidge,
the hot.