Awake All Summer

Remember the sun setting when the day was young?

4 o’clock in
the evening settled across
my being as
winter having won
battles for my soul.

This springtime
metamorphosis,
therefore,
infiltrates my
hoarded warmth;

baseboard hyperbole that raged subzero stretches, raised mercury on my breath;

insulated irony
and laid ice storms to rest.

Now the climbing Fahrenheits invite me north of eighty, to a taste of awkward hells. 

We might be 
awake all summer, 
daydreaming lovers 
united only 
in hibernation,

or I may
sleep through
this god forsaken

season
as well.

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