Sun-

[claire_writes]

the summer is
a play of orange book bags
on the blazing
concrete-
at 3 pm.

the slow move
of twenty year old
limbs wading
through the eternal
afternoon.

everything passes
through space
like sea-animals
at the aquarium,
in sticky spools
of laminated
water.

you don't much
buy the sincerity
of the summer
for its lack of
urgent time.