Where’s the sun’s enticing birdsong
cresting the teeth of neighbouring houses
in hues of orange?
What happened to the vibrant souls
of flowers who swayed and swam
on the kisses of a passing breeze?
Where are these sheets of gray off to
at this time of day, as quick as thought
and twice as thick?
Rather, when will the gravel underfoot
run thick in the smoldering weight
of midsummer’s eve?
wake me in spring
when the answers come
swift and welcome
with no fear of night.