Summer

First half of the yearlife has fallen throughleaving a blitzed interior.Pink uplighters, coloured backdropsfaces I have known the smell of.You were all well suitedbreathing in and out like a cavalry.There was nothing similar in your lookas if I’d been trying different dresses on for sizehoping one of them would fit.You could believe that God was neartransfixed by cigarette smokewhorls of cumulus, whorls of fingerprintsyou could believe in God at the end of the roomat the end of the next needle.First half of the yearlife falls through its own habitsleaving solitary sentriesfaces painted with integral intentionsneon overheads, bare boned stories.