summer poem

Unhand summer

Story me humid
air that swims. You know.
The mulberry returns
verdant, determined.
A certain tightness in the lungs
reminds me: treasure
the breath. Years of lilac
wishing. Count slowly.
Minutes weigh more than days.

Maybe the window called
for a mulberry screen.
Long for a lazy noontide
our room’s air paged and lettered.
I catch all the faucet discards,
carry water to each seedling.

Waiting no longer defines me.
I remember stars. Unseen comfort,
For days I try to gather sunlight,
arms wide. Greedy, fearing winter.
Summer me a study of excess
learn to hold these moments
and flavors through each season.

Today brings me to the same
story. Even a toddler’s book
is full of longing. Animals shadowless.
Pages basic, foliate. Spill sorrow.
Each night we catch fireflies
then free them. Unhold.
The hand that lifts slowly
catches the most light.

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