I'm in love
with the wrong kind of summer:
the short, the skinny;
to any farmer farming:
a summer bearing no fruit.
I'm in love
with the backside of dawn,
the sort of view from outer space:
sometimes I forget
to halt my frozen lungs.
I'm in love
with the denouement;
the fission fragments
that settle on children:
forgive their consequences.
I'm in love
with the morning after:
the New Year's Day;
to any dreamer dreaming:
a newfound freedom.