(O, what.
What now?
What next?)

Comes summer,
finally, astride her
horse of light and heat.
Comes heat.

(But still we know nothing of the future.)

Comes the filling
of my plea.

But still I cannot string
even these words together
to make song.

(So, what?
What now?
What next?)

Comes heat, pulling from us
all our energy and wet.

(But what will we do?)

Comes summer, sudden,
brimming with fruit,
turning us squint-eyed and sweaty,
and just in time.

But the answers come alone
if at all. (If at all.)