Air scented thickly from many spring flowers.
Heat inversion and fog and warming skin.
A morning so heavy that the peonies
can’t lift themselves to greet the sun.
I sit shaded, writing it all down.
This morning light has a gray filter
of clouds and a coolness unlike August.
The hole in this summer doesn’t cut
the gray. I just want quiet sleep,
sweet dreams when this long trick’s over.