Summer, I met you in Sumeria
a July eve still hot-to-touch with ingots
of gold dapppling white birches and welcome
winds rustling to and fro..
Summer, I can hear the distant hum of your
Chrysantiums, your Byzantiums,
your palindrones and exit tones.
Insects from afar sing their 90-day hymn
while birds wing loose, crossing
hemispheres with you.
Summer, long days spindle out
generous as seed and ample as bosom,
ladling that seven pm sun rich as
a hummingbird's suit.