You were cerulean it
seems. Paperweight jacket crumpled in-
side a striped trouser pocket.
Grappling with the buzz of summer cicadas
you step over their wings on the
eve of your sister’s wedding. Forget.
Disappear behind the pale veil of
the crinkled curtain. Watch as they sing
and fall in the garden. Listen
to the honeysuckle hum, the cadence
of the shrubberies and
get lost in the lily valley
for the marmalade sun will fall
this rumble-less evening in July.
