I wish it would never stop growing - a summer day at Cedar Bluff

In summer, the horizons keep expanding. Wavery heat lines on the highway make you think there is something ahead. The echo of a transistor radio from somewhere down the lake, comes to you on a hot wind that reminds you of the harvest happening back in town, where burnt men dump wheat into big trucks and drive them through the wavery heat lines to the elevator. You left an LP on the turntable in the basement, your mom is frying up chicken for ghost siblings who have left home, your back presses against the sand of a man-made dam, and your place in this time, is shimmering like the heat, the way thoughts and memories waver like lines, under your closed eyes. And this is what that sounds like: