This is precisely what summer is supposed to be. Fresh vegetables, bikers and runners floating by, catch on the back deck. Crickets.
The pool house is the size of half our apartment. The water pressure of the shower – soapy at ten p.m., a movie to follow, some yoga . . .
No moon that big or that red since four summers ago. Would I take love after the shower, instead of sleep? Certainly. But for now, that role remains empty, until someone can fill it and spill beyond the borders, a lover with the candor of a friend.
