If I made a list of things I miss about
The wool rolls down. The needless droop
A spider at the corner pane
Schemes for a pittance line by line.
The dull doves in the neighbouring wood
Call Could you do Do do You could.
A wakeless lull that's less than sleep
Brims in her eyes and palms and lap.
Something is finished. Nothing's done.
A lapse, a loss, a truce, a peace.
Here’s what I want from you. Your memories of summer afternoons. Be it a photo, a poem, a story or anything that to you typifies the blessed dullness of a scorching mid-day in May.