Solar anger at its peak pins you down
In the vortex of patience wearing thin;
Limbs, manacled in wear and tear,
cry out for a bout of blissful sojourn.
Summer, ever harvesting fresh hope,
eggs one on a wave of pursuit;
Mulling within the walls of a tiny flat
I seek to anchor deep my tiring boat.
Never toss on waves but swim.
Vacillation is a slow-eating virus;
Live for a tantalizing glow of the star,
skin skimmed by salacious breeze.
Nature’s whisper is always prescient,
Beauty is in doing, what one didn’t.