i wonder why we
keep running from the sun,
trailing and circling back
to the frigid woods
where nothing ever grows
when it continues to bathe
us in warmth, soak us in chlorine and
burn our skin with a rosy array of
UV and pigmented pores.
it’s too human for us to
be skeptical of the summer softness,
the scratching sand at our feet,
hot tidal pools that swirl with
uncertainty and faith.
i wish we’d stop running;
the horizon is not as
malevolent as the
holes in the ozone layers we carve
with smoke that let the sun
rub against our fingers
and sting our hearts;
too painful to drown.
in lakes that sparkle,
we pollute the earth and
expect the stars to not
start falling down in
rebellion,
i fear it is too late to
be nostalgic of the
summer.