rain falls, por fin

cracked:

there is no 15th month.



rain falls
and heals the wound
of swiftly turning
summer
tended slowly over
lemons puckered
pink
i hand soured them myselves
tidying the stitches of crisped scent
that toasty bottom
seed of sweet new
growth


sweat cobwebs
on bed of
floured pomegranates,
sinuously


sprig of green to liven burns up
(one must always cool to swim
two layers out there
across the sea





)

And yet, 
thrall rainbows…
sweetly salt bite time
you stare into your longing
in the toaster,
: