very ancient old henry poem:

SUMMER

 
The child knows clouds,
and lies in the green yards
as they fill the empty sky,
make it round, looming down,
shying away, or drifting off.

 
There are no mountains.
On the porch a sleeping cat
rolls over, into the sunlight.
Flies buzz.  Around noon
he looks in a window,

 
a piano leans against a wall
of the blue-green room.