Endless summers, central heat —
step back into familiar haze.
At once the shift, a cooling sheet;
and still the memory, it stays.
Strange to feel the facial bite,
to walk among the colored maze.
Thoughts then flood, their yearly rite;
and still the memory, it stays.
Immortal seems the Earth of late —
wet, then dry, then set ablaze.
The Latin chords hung out as bait;
and still the memory, it stays.
Death was late and out of place,
a cycling moon that’s out of phase,
the Fall an unexpected race
to memories still hung in place.