humidity convene like spies
inside the hollows
of a bright Manhattan
sun –
clouds of
happy apprehension rig suspension of the day
the Weather Channel
told you
might be
fair. It won’t be fair. It’s never fair.
Beatrix
Potter Springs
are rare in
New York City: plan for chilly March or sodden
mid-July. That’s
a meteorological
prognosis
upon which you may decide, in May,
you might rely.
Except for
when you can’t. Evidence for anything is scant.
.
No comments:
Post a Comment