99poems/short

Spring was short,
a week, maybe two.
I have come
to think of summer
as the other winter –
(the hot one) –
another time
I hole up,
in out of the
weather.

I think of the
sultry houses
I used to know,
where fans whirred,
large shadow trees
that spanned
the yard.
The way people
sat outside
in the evening
and talked.

6/14/99