|
Summer was taken from us one brave morning. The squall swept in, blinded us with white light, left us staring at the holes in ourselves, destruction cut from whole cloth. Wailing women heave bicycles, the wheels skittering & snickering on popsicle-stained pavement. A lone street urchin kicks his feet in the water, playing a mawkish swan song on flute. We point with withered fingers, anticipating husks of seasons. |