On the Cusp of Summer

There’s a beat seed in your pocket Round and full, with waiting life. Maybe it bounces Softly, as you walk down the dappled street to meet me Where ashes dance like summer snow Like us, born of fire and circling, Drifting from school rooms from car beds from bedrooms To put down roots That bleed blood red In beating hearts. I’ll speak with carbon words And hum a lullaby of forests As we sit together On the cusp of summer And listen to the breeze through olive-leaves.