I have talked all day
But what I know means nothing,
Not like the turquoise field in the sky
Below where the sun has dropped.
There’s a final note
For a summer more hope now than fact,
A cool pink floats
Like the cackling lilt
Of voices that need to be listened to,
And that are, conveniently, heard
In another layer of cloud,
A deeper blue,
Yet their murmur turns into a scream,
A frisson of powerlessness
Runs overwhelmingly
Through the crowd.
The horizon bends
To the water’s late blues.
There seems nothing one can do
To stay whole in the blur of sky.
The sun is gone,
No sign of what’s to come,
No reason to believe
Or think we know.
If you light a fire,
Will summer arrive?
If you raise your voice,
Will the world move?
Something asks, or seems to,
“Can you trust me
Just this once?”
The air’s alive with lighting fluid.
