Sun and Summer Heat

It’s morning, bright sun streaming in my window.
The dry earth bleeds for rain.
Sunday morning, and the last dregs
of a former life pass through sheaths of foil.
It is June, it is summer, it is quiet.
Sitting here I am listening to Jim Morrison
recite poetry back in March 1969.
I used to live for summer days
On my bicycle, riding into town
to buy weed and Canadian beer.
Stay out until they turned the sprinklers
on on the Diag, every night an adventure.
Now, summer is locked in battle between
the sun and the moon, heat seeps into my room,
The burning sun streams through my window.

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