Angular Momentum
Summer rain comes as a mercy:
soothing the parched souls with life,
reminding the fumbling hearts of grace.
If I could I would pin the sun at twilight:
a churn of violet and tangerine,
an eye half-closed melting clarity into wisdom.
Yet the weather marches on,
time its drum major,
without reason or cause, only rythm,
playfully teasing those who seek to blame.
Summer luxuriance blooms without warning,
blinding the unsuspecting passenger,
with only the rain to reassure
my melancholic heart in this heat.