Too soon to count the summer dawns
remaining, like cattle bunched before the gate,
yet these leftovers of a Gulf monsoon
that invade my sky like dark ships
over the Sierras from where a scattered flotilla
waits for orders, may cloud the day—
steam instead of bake the inhabitants
of this canyon—leave a little crunch,
like vegetables, life for tomorrow.
Don’t know what’s worse, steaming or baking.
Nice this morning, though, not to be roasted by the sun. Have a good day, Angeline 🙂