Fuchsia smurf hat

and a cashmere scarf,

feet cupped in sheepskin..

it’s August

and far from cold.

Sometimes you hold yourself

in whatever way you can.

The yellow jackets are on full attack,

two stings slowly healing.

Jay carried away a green fig,

no time to pause for sweetness.

The boundaries have become sloshy,

I’m waiting for true definition.

The wait may have lost its own edges.