A sure sign of soon-coming Summer. Another sweet, salt-aired Summer.

Quite a sight to behold: a woman of sun, reclining on the grass, in a meadow, abundantly recumbent, hair and limbs lush with heat

If he could see you now. Really see you. Take you entirely in. As you are now, in these days, places

A man rides his bicycle on the sea. Salt rubs the tires. Sun reflects on the soles of his shoes.

Red lights flaring like Roman candles at empty intersections. Headlights wanding like blind men’s sticks

Fog pours in through the half-open windows. Fills our small bedroom by the bay. Pools

The tender new leaves of the trees, emergently green. The white feathers of the wading egret.

The only thing warm tonight in the deep winter sky ~ and soon to occlude. The Wolf Moon, Ice Moon, Old Moon.

However tender, and moist. The golden skin, supremely crisp. The stuffing,

A frosted cake layered with cars and people, rosetted with gulls, points out toward quiet afternoon islands.

Those many, sung and unsung, who gave themselves, often gave up their lives, to fight, in wars,

You, Picasso aigu in your summer straw shading blue eyes and sailor stripes, juggling a bubble of cold wine.