You open your windows to good air
blowing in from who knows where,
which you gulp and deeply inhale
as if you have a death sentence. You have.
All your life, it seems, you've been appealing it.
Night sweats and useless strategem. Reprieves.

(-Stephen Dunn, from "Before the Sky Darkens")


I am dreaming of fall. Days when the air is something I'm willing to breathe. Nights I can sleep through, dreamlessly.

Fall, like spring, is always more real to me anyway. The rapid-fire metamorphasis of the earth, those tangible renewals.

It's too hot. I'm a senior. Everything's possible and I am scared out of my wits.